I don't own Hetalia

Russia really wasn't sure what to think.

He had been standing alone on his porch, drinking his bottle of vodka without a care in the world - he had better emphasise the fact he was alone.

His home was blessedly empty. Ever since the fall of the Union he had been mostly left to his own devices by the other nations. While once that might have bothered him... it was relieving. Natalya had decided to go back to her country for once, and Russia was fully intent on savouring every peaceful moment without her disturbing aura and obsessive personality - to be frank, she scared him to death. Creepy little sister.

Also, his house was in the middle of nowhere. In Siberia. Where the only road to get here had been blocked by snow and ice two days ago - another miracle - and his boss didn't like to email him lots of paperwork, as the emails never seemed to reach him (what a pity).

So here he was, totally, completely alone, and there was no way that anyone could have been able to reach him, even in an emergency. Even if the stupid capitalist decided to launch one of his half brained invasion schemes, Putin would have to beat him back with a stick until the snow melted.

So why, in the name of every boss he had ever had - and he wasn't naming them all, so don't even ask - was there a grinning teenager aiming a snowball at him standing on his bottom step?

"If you throw that at me, you and pipe will become very friendly, da?"

He thudded his half empty bottle of alcohol against the frozen wood to support his point, and pulled the infamous lead object out of its permanent home in his coat.

Ready to do battle, Russia didn't expect the shocked... noise - he would use the word squeal, but they were both male, and didn't need to use such cutesy vocabulary - that erupted from the boy's mouth, nor the speed with which the boy jumped back.

"You can see me?!" Russia scowled at the distinctly American accent, and could feel his benevolent mood drain out of him.

"Da, of course I see you. I am Russia. Russia sees all."

The boy took a few hesitant steps forward, a wary expression on his face. He could see now the teen had hair like Prussia's, and was barefoot. "Russia? As in the country?"

Russia rolled his eyes, and firmly placed the previously unknown variable into the category of 'Harmless but Annoying'. His pipe was placed into back into his coat, and he took a long swig of vodka. The urge was great - the teen was American, he would be forgiven - but Russia decided to be merciful today. He would not hit the boy.

"You have heard of other Russia?"

"Uh, no, but-"

"Then you answer your own question."

The boy looked distinctly uncomfortable. Good.

"... North never said anything about this... How is that even possible?" And the discomfort was gone, replaced with an all too familiar childish curiosity.

Russia shrugged, before realising he should probably get back to his own original question.

"I do not know. Just is. More appropriate question is how you are here."

The boy cocked his eyebrow. "How I got here? I flew on the wind."

Russia scoffed. "On wind? Only General Winter can do such things, and he has been gone for long time, hundreds of years."

"Who is General Winter? And how long?"

Russia took a long look at the teen suddenly leapt up the stairs to sit on the top step. He laid a large wooden staff on the decking beside him, and looked up at Russia with expectation. How presumptuous.

But the conversation had started, and Russia felt compelled to continue it. It was probably the vodka.

"He in charge of winter, snow and ice is his domain. He has been gone for around three centuries now."

"But that's my job! And I became me that long ago! Maybe I'm his replacement!"

"What?"

"I'm Jack Frost!"

Russia crouched down quickly and looked closely at the boy's face. "Your job?"

"Yeah!"

"Prove it."

Russia groaned as he remembered how the bratty American teenager came to substitute his oldest acquaintance and enemy, while trying to dodge the hail of snowballs that were being launched at him from all directions - without trying to look like a fool, as he was in the middle of Moscow surrounded by his people.

"Come on Ivan! You know you want to play! Stop being boring!"

He groaned again, loudly, and a middle aged woman brushing past gave him a very freaked out look before scooting away hastily.

He should have hit Jack when he had the chance.

Just a cute little short from my ultimate fandom and one of my new favourite movies. Honestly, I was halfway through watching the film for the first time when this idea hit me. Ah, inspiration.

Paragraph five - it is just me, or do any of you have visions of Putin bitchslapping America as he tries to cross the border? Just me then? Ah.

Alas, my brain.

Review please, and let me know what you guys think! :-)