A/N: I really hope these Hetalia plot bunnies stop so I can finish my Naruto works.

This is my second Hetalia fic, I would appreciate if some of you would check out the first, "I Hear America Singing" as I (for some unknown reason) decided to post it at three in the morning, so no one really got to see it.

Please enjoy.

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Russia was crazy. Everyone knew that.

Or at least, they thought they knew.

Everyone always thinks they know.

Not many people would approach Ivan Braginski, for the fear that he may snap on them, or do some things to them with that ominous lead pipe that they were always trying to convince themselves was stained with rust, not blood. Others were put off by his terrifying aura, or sometimes his obsessive, overprotective sister, Belarus, Natalia Arlovskaya . Maybe his smile would unnerve them.

Either way, no one ever tried to befriend him, for fear he might ask that question, "Become one with Russia, da?" It was in vain, though, he'd occasionally ask them all the same.

His presence was much too threatening, despite the much-too-innocent and child-like smile always on his face.

But if someone were to, for some unfathomable reason, wish to ask him, "What do you want?" the answer would surprise them.

After all, they expect him to say, "For everyone to become one with Mother Russia," in a cheerful tone, fake smile in place.

Which he will say.

The first time, at least.

If that same person were to not believe him, and pursue him again, repeating the question:

"What do you really want?"

His features would smooth over, the smile fading, and he would sigh, looking so very, very tired. He would look that person over, then look them in the eyes, almost as if determining whether it's worth the trouble to answer that person.

That person may falter under his scrutinizing gaze, or decide to say, "Never mind," and leave.

If that person stays, however, and he considers that person worth it, then:

"Just a little," he would reply softly, barely audible.

No doubt, that person would confusedly ask for clarification: "What?"

"Just a little bit," he would repeat, a small, sad, but genuine smile on his face. That person would be stunned, too busy wondering at his rare, new display of real emotion to actually listen to him.

Ivan would begin to speak again, drawing that person's attention back to him. He would speak gently, longingly, wistfully…

"A little warmth.

A little bit of sunflowers.

A little sunshine.

A little safe haven.

A little bit of compassion.

A little bit of friendship.

A little family.

A little unity.

A little house on a tropical island.

A little reprieve.

A little bit of smiling.

A little laughter.

A little happiness.

A little love.

A little peace.

Just a little."

He would conclude, give you that childish smile once more, with the faintest glimmers of sorrow hidden in the depths of his eyes, and walk away.

That person would certainly be in a state of shock, blankness for a moment, as they struggled to process his words.

Then, as the words sink in, that person would most definitely feel differently towards him. They would feel different, in one way or another.

But most importantly, they would understand.

As much as they may be in disbelief, they will know, no matter how hard they try to deny it or convince themselves otherwise, that he had just exposed his heart and soul to them, and he was being so painfully, painfully, honest.

Depending on the person, they may bolt after him. They may just stare after him. They may just decide to change the way they act towards them. They may just turn and walk away.

They may have to hide their tears. They may just let them flow freely. They may hide under a mask of indifference while they try to pick apart the situation in their mind.

They may go after him.

That person would run, find him wherever he'd gone, and desperately grab his arm and pull him to face them, ignoring the fear that they might startle him into attacking with the sudden contact. He will startle, but no violent feelings or actions would escape him.

Panting, perhaps doubling over to catch their breath and looking up at him, perhaps words will be tumbling out of their mouths without restraint, perhaps they will be silent, but never letting go of his sleeve, they will just look at him.

He will be surprised, and return the gaze, blinking expectantly.

That person may keep rambling, or perhaps, silently, just tug on his sleeve a few times with a watery smile. Or just let go, and after recovering, swallowing nervously, they may just pat him on the back or arm. A more emotional person may just throw themselves at him in a hug, disregarding their well-being. (He will not harm whomever decides to embrace him, however, and that fear should not be present in that person's mind.)

No matter what though, they would understand, and he would know. And he would smile.

A true smile.

He may chuckle a little, or laugh outright. He may say something, or may silently just pat that person on the head with a smile on his face. He may embrace them.

Maybe, from there, as time passes, that person and Russia would become friends. Or just friendly acquaintances. Maybe, it might move to love over time. Maybe they will become just playful rivals, as opposed to aggressive, hateful ones. Maybe, allies.

But the relationship would change, for the better, an exchange of friendliness in some form.

And maybe, Russia will have finally gotten a little bit of what he longs for so deeply.

But no one ever approaches him. No one ever asks him that fateful question. No one tries to understand.

So for now, Russia will spend his days alone, waiting for a day when he can have "just a little."

Just a little bit.

A/N: I've no idea where these insightful one-shots keep coming from. I might have one for Greece next, depending on how well this and "I Hear America Singing" are received.

Reviews and critiques, comments and questions, they are all welcomed and appreciated.

Thanks for reading!