A/N: This is because I thought I'd try writing something other than humour for once. Why not angst? And given that it's the twentieth anniversary of the collapse of the Soviet Union today, I automatically thought of Russia. So. Enjoy my attempt at angst, and if it makes you laugh, that's because I couldn't resist a slight hint of humour (slight as it may be).

It was a snowy day in the Soviet Union. Russia struggled out of his house, even so, to buy his newspaper and some vodka, as well as various groceries. For a little while, it had actually been a relief to get out of the house – it was a pretty chaotic atmosphere, especially since Lithuania had left the year before and wouldn't come back. This had brought about various protests, and before too long his other little Baltics (and his big sister, Ukraine) had left too. Russia still had the Stans, of course. And Belarus, and Armenia. But even they had been declaring independence left, right and centre, and Russia was so stressed he could barely think.

After stumbling home, groceries and suchlike in a paper bag, Russia discovered that his front door was locked. Rather than going through his many pockets to find the key, he instead kicked the door down and strode in, placing the groceries in a cupboard.

"Russia is home!" He called to whoever might be listening. No reply. "Hello?" Still nothing. The only thing Russia could hear was the distant sound of a car engine that sounded all too familiar. Russia strode to the living room window, hoping to God that he hadn't heard what he thought he heard but… yes. That was definitely his Lada being driven swiftly away by one of the Stans (Russia wasn't sure which) and it was going far too fast for him to catch up with it.

What happened after that was a blur. Russia called Gorbachev in a frenzy, yelling at the man in fluent Russian, before slamming the phone against the wall and falling in a heap on the floor. The Soviet Union was no more.

"They left me," Russia realized, "all of them. I'm not the nation in charge of the Soviet Union anymore… I'm just… Russia."

The nation known as Russia woke with a start. "Why did I have to dream that?" He wondered, pulling back the covers and turning off his alarm clock before it beeped at him. As if on cue, Russicat padded in, purring and rubbing his head against Russia's ankles. "Maybe it's because I've been thinking of the Baltics a lot lately…"

Russicat let out a soft meow in reply, pawing at Russia's foot. "Yes, that'll be it. Let's have some breakfast, eh Boris?" The cat appeared to nod, purring at the sound of his name, and Russia led the way downstairs. He had drunk quite a bit of vodka the previous night, and as a result was rather hungover. It was quite lucky – for the alarm clock, at least – that he had awoken before said alarm clock had gone off, because with his current headache and general mood Russia would probably have thrown the little Hello Kitty clock (a present from China) out of the window, or worse.

Russia narrowly-avoided tripping over the last step of his staircase (Russicat meowed worriedly at this point) before practically falling into his kitchen, deciding that a cup of coffee would be the best way to get rid of his headache. He was about to shout for Toris to make him some coffee when… oh. "Toris doesn't live here anymore, does he Boris?" Russicat ignored Ivan, patting his empty food-bowl with his paw before growling impatiently at Russia's hesitation.

"Oh, right. Sorry," Russia quickly fed his cat, stuffing a slice of bread in his much-abused toaster for himself, and glanced over at the calendar France had given him. "Oh."

25th December 2011. It was the 20th anniversary of the day that he'd dreamt about, the day when everyone finally gained independence from him. It was also – for everyone in the Western world – Christmas Day. Of course, Russia didn't normally bother with Christmas. He'd always get a present from Finland on that day, but that was all. Back in the Soviet Union days, all fifteen of them would sit in a circle, unwrap their presents from Finland one by one, and sometimes give each other little gifts. One year, Belarus made Christmas cake.

Russia hadn't even realized that it was nearing that particular anniversary. For the last week, he'd been snowed-in, his only link with the outside world was the Russia Today news channel, and that was if he could even get a satellite signal. He hadn't minded, though. It had been a relief to just relax, stay inside, and not see anyone. He'd played Tetris, looked at pictures of sunflowers, played with Boris, and most of all, he had thought about his past.

One of the biggest regrets of Russia's life was the way he'd treated the Baltics when they were in the Soviet Union. He had never touched them, but he didn't have to. A few well-placed threats, a little intimidation, and his general reputation as Russia was all he needed to keep them in line. He'd never had to lay a finger on any of them; not while they were living with him, anyway. There were a few wars in the past when he'd done a little damage, but that was the past. The fact was that Russia had never, would never, and could never have hurt his little Baltics. He just wished that they'd known that.

Russia had done a lot of thinking over the years, and had come to realize that he was wrong to boss the Baltics around. When he was a General in the Red Army, they had obeyed him because they respected him and liked him, not because of threats and intimidation. He should have tried to get the Baltics to like him, rather than lording his power over them, he knew that now. And the fact remained that if he'd known that back then, the Soviet Union might not have collapsed.

If they came back, he'd treat them differently. When Latvia had given his coat to a museum, well, that would have been just fine. It had moths living in it anyway. He would have just sent little Latvia out to buy a new one, instead of glaring at him until the smallest Baltic was reduced to tears. When Lithuania had a slight laundry mishap and Belarus's purple scarf ended up in the washing machine with Russia's socks, which then turned lilac, that would have just made Russia laugh. It wasn't as if anyone would see his socks, anyway, since he wore boots all the time. He hadn't actually done anything to Lithuania for that – he hadn't needed to. The Baltic had gone running to Poland regardless, worried about what his boss would think.

Now, Russia would pass the Baltics in the corridors at world meetings. He would always say 'hello', but usually just got a shaky nod in return. Last time he'd tried to talk to Estonia, the nation had pretended that he didn't know who Russia was and had promptly excused himself.

"I should have told them how much they meant to me," Russia said. "They were my friends, and now I miss them and they won't have anything to do with me…"

Russia was most worried about Lithuania. While watching Russia Today yesterday, he'd seen a bulletin about Lithuanian factories closing down. A lot of households were losing money, it seemed. When Russia had called Lithuania to see how he was, a maid had answered and informed him that "Mr. Laurinaitis has a bad cold," and that the Lithuanian couldn't come to the phone. Russia just wanted to go and hug his little friend, and tell him that everything would be OK, but when he'd rung up and demanded to be allowed to go and see Lithuania they had told him that they were under strict instructions not to let "Mr. Ivan Braginski" into the house.

Just when Ivan was beginning to think that things couldn't possibly get any worse, the smoke alarm went off. Boris yowled, annoyed, and pawed at Ivan's leg. Looking around for the source of the smoke, Ivan discovered that his toast had well-and-truly burnt. He quickly bashed the toaster against the counter a few times, before tossing it into the sink and dousing the small fire with water, and the smoke alarm let out one last whine before shutting up (partly because Russia hit it very hard with his pipe.)

"No toast for me, then…" Russia noted, observing the hissing, beaten-up toaster that had probably finally been rendered unusable. "Cereal will do, I suppose…"

Having unenthusiastically eaten his cereal, Russia dumped the bowl in the sink (it joined the ex-toaster that he couldn't be bothered to remove) and was about to settle himself down to watch the news when the doorbell went off.

"It's unlocked, I think…" Russia announced.

"No, it's like, not!" Poland shouted. "Like, open the door, Braginski! Me and Liet brought something for you!"

"Lithuania? But I thought he had a cold…" Did Lithuania tell his servant to lie to Russia, for some reason? That made Russia very angry. Or it would have, if he had enough energy to get angry. Regardless, Russia unlocked the door and Poland came striding in, tutting at the wallpaper, which was beginning to peel seeing as Russia hadn't redecorated since the 1970s. Lithuania followed, blowing his nose noisily.

"I do, but I thought we should come and see you anyway." Lithuania's attempt at a smile turned into a cough, and he winced.

"We, like, totes made you a cake," Poland informed Russia, pushing a box into his arms.

"You made me a cake? But why? I thought you hated me…" Russia was quite bewildered by now. Did they not hate him? Or did they just feel sorry for him?

"Oh goodness, Mr. Russia! We don't hate you!" Lithuania exclaimed.

"Then why did you leave me?"

"I left because my government and people wanted me to. I didn't actually want to leave you. I mean, you could be pretty scary, but my economy was doing pretty well when I was with you. Plus, I always knew you'd never really hurt me…"

"Oh." There was nothing much else Russia could think of to say.

"And I, like, reminded him that today was the anniversary of when everyone, like, left you. We thought you'd, like, want some company." Poland finished.

"And everyone likes cake! We got all of the old republics to sign their name on the box. Belarus has a nice signature, doesn't she?"

"Ah, I love my little Baltics!" Russia smiled, pulling both Lithuania and Poland into an embrace.

"Um, sir?"

"Da, Lithuania?"

"You're sort of squishing the cake…"

"Oops~!"

And that was how what looked as though it would be a bad Christmas day in Russia's house, turned into a good one. The trio watched Christmas movies, ate all of the cake (probably not such a good idea, considering the size of it) and Poland learnt to play Tetris. The only dull moment was when Russia passed out on the couch due to a tad too much vodka, but that happens every other night anyway.

The End

A/N: So...? Should I write more angst, or...? I may do, either way, it depends. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little thing, such as it is, and MERRY CHRISTMAS~!