Frail Hope

"Everyone has baggage. Some people just can't shut the suitcase all the way." – Anonymous

Where some see brute strength, I see a gentle giant.

After several loud thwacks with a steel pipe, the door finally collapsed. The dust began to settle as light streamed into the cramped space, but was soon blocked out by the large figure standing in the doorway.

Kumajirou, who had been on the other side of the door when America accidentally locked Canada in the storage closet, watched as Russia squeezed himself through the door frame. A few seconds later, he returns, holding the limp body of Canada in his arms. Dried blood was on his hands from his desperate attempts at banging on the door, his hair was clinging to his face from sweat and tears that left his eyes red and burning.

Russia recognized the look in those wild blue-violet eyes. It wasn't fear. No, it was a look Russia had seen time and time again reflected back to him on empty vodka bottles before he threw them into the fire.

"No one will be lonely when all becomes one with Mother Russia," he whispered, softly. Slightly dazed, Canada nodded, a sad smile on his lips.

Where some see a smiling psychopath, I see a mask covering insecurities.

"Why the hell do you smile so much? It's freaking creepy!"

America yelled, leaning over the table at the World Meeting. Several French fries spilled out of the red container when his elbow bumped into it. America didn't seem to notice, but Kumajirou certainly did. Canada had to keep smacking his head away. He didn't need his bear ingesting that nasty stuff.

"Is it creepy?" Russia asked, innocently.

The smile widened, causing the Baltics to start shivering. America slammed his fist on the table, making more fries jump in the air. The polar bear caught one in his mouth. It kind of reminded Canada of how bears catch salmon going upstream. He still made Kumajirou drop it, however.

"Of course it's creepy! No one smiles like that unless they have some evil plan up their sleeve!"

"Whatever. You are annoying." Russia's facial expression didn't change. He came off as indifferent, but only Canada saw the hurt lingering in his eyes.

Where some see an irrational attachment to fabric, I see a strong devotion to family.

Russia looked on sadly at his beloved scarf, hanging in the branches of a tree. He wasn't sure how it got all the way up there, either, since the fabric wasn't that light. The wind made the ends of the fabric sway. He could almost hear it calling him, begging Russia to get it down.

"I can't," He whispered.

If he tried to climb the tree, the branches would break because of his weight. Russia broke down crying.

"Katyusha… Katyusha, I am so sorry." He repeated to himself, almost like a chant. He was in fetal position, crying into his knees, slightly rocking back and forth.

Canada happened to be on a walk with Kumajirou (the bear tended to act out less if given plenty of exercise) when he saw Russia on the ground. He heard a rustling noise, and saw the scarf way up in the tree.

Carefully, Canada climbed, and was just barely able to reach the scarf with his outstretched hands. When he touched the ground, Canada inspected the scarf. He was amazed that it didn't rip. Russia was still apologizing to his sister when Canada laid the folded scarf at his feet.

Canada left, not bothering to gain any recognition for his good deed. So he never saw the smile that appeared on the man's face when he nuzzled the fabric, or the bewildered violet eyes that followed him as he walked away.

Where some see intimidation, I see a fear of others getting too close.

Canada wasn't watching where he was going, so he couldn't have seen the short blue blur that was Sealand peeling down the hallway. He felt the collision, and everything went hazy as his glasses flew off his face.

Expecting to hit the floor, he found it odd when two strong arms grabbed his shoulders to steady him. The large blurry form walked away, and Canada figured he was leaving. He was wrong. The person came back, handing him his glasses. He put them on, and was face to face with Russia.

"U-um, thanks." Canada whispered. He swallowed. "Would you l-like to g-go get-?"

"No," Russia said quickly, walking away at a fast pace. Canada watched sadly as he slipped around the corner.

Where some see an alcoholic, I see a plea for help.

"Why did they leave? Tell me: why did they leave, Matvey? We were supposed to be a family!"

Two hours in a bar with Russia. Fifteen bottles of vodka. Russia was crying into Canada's shoulder. He awkwardly held the taller man in his arms, patting his platinum hair.

But he did feel a twinge of nostalgia when he mentioned family. He remembered how England would get drunk after the Revolution, and cry on his shoulder. For England, it was rather sudden and unexpected (being so dense and all). He really never was the same after that, even after all these years he was upset when the fourth of July came around.

Canada figured Russia had a feeling that things were slowly falling apart, but was in complete denial. It must've been hard to cope with the loss, considering how huge Russia's house was. He couldn't imagine being in such a large place all by himself.

"Shh, shh. I know… it's no fun being all alone, eh?"

The large nation only whimpered in response, tightening his grip on Canada's jacket.

Where some see a sunflower obsession, I see a wish for warmth and happiness.

"Little ones?"

Russia froze, a lump gathering in his throat. The rows of sunflowers had withered and were all hunched over, dead. At his touch, the brown petals crumbled to nothing. Such was the cruelty of General Winter.

But he didn't cry. No, Russia stood there silently, too stunned to do anything.

Canada appeared at the door to the greenhouse. Lately Russia had been in the habit of inviting him over for friendly conversation, and Canada wanted to invite him to a hockey game at the end of the month. When he arrived, Lithuania told him to wait for a few minutes, but he grew restless after ten, and worried after twenty. There was no harm in a little exploration, right?

Canada paused, his hand on the door frame. It hurt to see Russia so upset. He wanted to say something, anything to reassure him, but every time he tried, nothing would come out. Canada never was really good with words. It was much easier to be in the background, to let others take charge.

He slowly edged forward, trying not to startle Russia. When he was sure Russia knew of his presence, he wasn't sure what to do next, so he lightly tugged on his coat to get his attention.

Violet eyes met blue-violet and a small hand reached for a larger one. They stood there silent for a few minutes, hand in hand, before Russia gave a small smile. Canada stepped closer to rest his head on his shoulder. He gave his hand a light squeeze.

They walked together to the house, with the frail hope that tomorrow would be better.

It's short, I know. But sometimes, good things are simple and short. Hopefully this is one of them. RusCan is just so darn sweet!

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