Hello, readers! This is the second version of this story, which I am currently in the middle of editing! Leave comments if you like it, and the editing might go faster!

All translations in the end notes.

The woman stood at the edge of the battlefield, panting despite the snow and ice cold wind that swirled around her. Her long curly blond hair was pulled back in a braid, and that was good, for she was covered in sweat, blood, and filth. She swept aside a wayward curl, and then straightened her entire body. Her posture was good, her stance firm. She didn't even spare a glance for the bodies around her. It was not that she felt no sorrow, for she mourned their bodies as much as their wives would. No, she spared them no glances for her eyes had already locked onto her opponent. She had no time to grieve in this moment.

He was still clean himself, having barely done any of the work. He wore a smile that was cold and cruel, lacking a single trace of warmth in it, and his pale violet eyes showed no signs of mercy. His coat was of a pale material, no doubt warmer than hers, for she had worn this coat through many battles, and the wear was growing obvious. His silver hair almost blended into the white of the snow behind him, except for the fact that after the battle, the snow was more red than white.

Red and white had once been the colors she had bravely fought under, waving proud above her head as she tore down the enemy.

Now, she had finally met her match. One that truly threatened to destroy her and everything she stood for.

Her skills had always been her invisibility, her quietness. It allowed her to survive. It made her forgettable. Often, people thought she was weak, and she allowed them to believe that, acting polite and never being as rude as her brother had once been.

The assumption of weakness was what made her strong. A hunter in the winter had to be quiet, fast, strong, and intelligent. This was what she was. A being of ice, snow, and wind. A child of a land of winter.

But he was all that and more. And, although she hated to admit it, he had spent more time fighting than she had.
After all, he had been alive for centuries longer than she had.

The young children France and England had raised had been sheltered from the outside world for the most part, besides the wrath of their fathers and each other. Not until Pearl Harbor had one of them known the true cruelty of a bitter, uncaring world on their own homeland. They had fought, won, and waged war for years, but never had it affected them so much before that day.

The stare shared across the battlefield was interrupted as something fell from the sky. She knew what it was the moment she saw it fluttering down through the air. She had prayed her people would hold out. They were strong. Winter was as much of an ally to them as it was to him.

But the loss of her brother had affected them too deeply, their grief and fear impossible to overcome. Their hope was simply that the man standing before her would have mercy if they surrendered.

She knew him too well to believe that was true.

He stepped forward, and she watched as the wind blew the flag straight to him, as though to betray her. He snatched it out of the air, admiring the colored cloth. She clenched her teeth in anger. How could they give up so easily?! This was not the nature of her people, to lay down like a rug for men like these!

He continued to gaze at the flag. The red sides, the white center, and there, framed within the white, a red maple leaf. Her symbol. Her hope. Her flag.

He approached her. She wanted to snatch it from his hands, show him she was not so easily destroyed. But she was frozen in place, forbidden from doing what she wished. The will of her people and her government trumped all the desires of her own heart.

As she heard the crunch of the ice, she reminded herself of everything that had occurred. He cut down your lover. He destroyed the men who raised you. He killed your brother slowly, ripping him apart piece by piece until it all disappeared. He murdered your other family members in cold blood.

He reached a hand out to touch her face, and the spell was broken. She snarled, and shoved him away. At least she had that much control over her own body.

"You are still feisty, мой ангел." He stated with a laugh, those menacing eyes flashing with grim determination.

"Don't touch me, you bâtard."

He chuckled as though this was all a most amusing game. "Oh, but do you not know what this cloth means, ангел? It means your people have given up. They have surrendered to me. It was a challenge, I admit, but at least you fought to the end, unlike the coward you once called brother..."

She slammed into his chest, her whole being filled with rage. She would not stop! But her rebellion was cut short by the sound of fabric being ripped.

She recoiled from the sound, her heart racing. her whole body tense, tears springing to her eyes. "No!"

That flag had flown at Ottawa. It was as if the will of her people was being torn, rather than simply a symbol of their land. She could see the tear, still small, still repairable. Oh, please don't do it! Please!

"It is fun, да?" He said, flashing her a grin which could have frozen a man solid in an instant.

"No, it's not fun. Please, don't tear it. Please!" She heard herself beg through her tears.

He paused for a second, as though he was genuinely moved by her display of tears and her voice, and then, with a laugh like thunder, he tore straight through it, the flag as broken as her nation.

She screamed, the images of the dead flooding through her mind, her body wracked with pain, as people began to realize they were no longer going to be protected by their nation, for it no longer existed.

She hadn't realized she'd fallen to her knees until the ice cut into them, the blood spilling from the cuts. She barely noticed that either. They would be announcing it now. After years, after everything else, the last stronghold had fallen. Canada was no longer.

She wasn't sure how long she lay in the snow and ice, her screams and wails slowly fading into whimpers and sobs which shook her entire body. She wished she could die. She wanted to die. To be conquered like this... She understood why the others had ended themselves rather than face this.

"Нет, ангел. You are stronger than that. Don't give up. It will only make things harder in the end." She heard his voice taunt her. She wanted to snarl, spit in his face, or claw out his eyes, but all she could do was cry and shiver, as she tried to pull herself away from him.

Night fell, and then she felt his arms wrap around her, lifting her up.

"Come, ангел, let's take you home." He said softly as he stood, carrying her like a rag doll.

She had no strength left to fight him.

***

She awoke when a gentle hand brushed against her brow.

She opened her eyes slowly as the hand moved across her head. Maybe this war was just a terrible dream. Maybe she'd actually been very sick, and papa and father had been taking care of her. She'd open her eyes and find both of them looking at her with a worried expression, and then they'd make her favorite foods and tell her to take it easy until she got better. Alfred would come by with hamburgers, gifts, and grins, and chat away all day, not even caring if she fell asleep in the middle of his chatter.

But none of those hopes were true. Instead, she found herself looking at a pair of blue eyes on a face framed by shoulder length brown hair. She recognized the face at once, for he had always been a kind soul.

"Lithu-Lithuania, where am I?" She asked, struggling to sit up.

"This is your apartment. In Ottawa." He responded, and then laid a hand back on her brow. "Lay back down, you don't need to make yourself sick." He said in a comforting voice. She knew he had been a doctor once, and he knew what she needed to do.

"Where is... Kumajirou? Is he...?" She began, noticing the absence of the ever present weight at the end of her bed.
Lithuania didn't look at her, suddenly turning away. As panic rose in her breast, she began to shout.

"Kumakichi!" She yelled. "Kumayoshi!" She found strength in her worry, sitting up fast, though the feeling of her brain being hammered wasn't worth it. "Kumaji!"

Suddenly the door was flung open, but it wasn't a protective polar bear who was standing there. It was a young woman with a knife. Belarus!

"Be silent!" She snarled. "Your bear is fine." She snapped, obviously annoyed by Canada's behavior. But Canada could care less. She needed the bear, damnit!

"I want to see him. I want Kuma!" She screamed, not caring that she sounded like a child throwing a tantrum.

The young woman darted to her, and grabbed her hands in a threatening manner, shoving Lithuania to the side in the process. "Perhaps you'd like a few broken fingers as well..." She threatened, and Canada opened her mouth to respond.

"Belarus, enough."

They all turned at that. There, in the door, stood the enemy, his gaze cutting into her.

"I must say, Canada, your determination makes me believe you could be very useful, if properly trained." He continued, ignoring the presence of the other two nations in the room and as though they had been speaking before this moment.

"I won't bow to you, you merde!" She shouted back. Her people had surrendered, but that didn't mean they were happy about it, and that alone gave her a small bit of strength to fight back with. They needed her still. She was still alive!

He didn't even look surprised at her words or tone. "Lithuania, Belarus, return home today. I will finish up business here." His tone made it clear he was dismissing the other two nations.

Lithuania nodded, and then gave Canada a nervous smile, the only form of encouragement he could give her. Belarus muttered something unintelligible under her breath, and then followed Lithuania out of the room.

The door closed.

And he was on the wrong side of it.

"You have fought desperately against this inevitable ending, Canada. Why not give up now, while you are still ahead?" Russia said, laughter in his eyes at the statement. He knew that deep down, she was just like her brother. She would not kneel to him willingly.

"Aller te faire foutre, Russie." She said, meeting his gaze head on, violet eyes meeting lavender, anger meeting amusement.

He chuckled at her obvious resistance. "Why would I fuck myself when I have something better right here in front of me?"

The silent threat lacked subtlety, yet at the same time, the message was obvious. She wanted to puke at the thought of him touching her and barely managed to keep his gaze. The way the rest of her body moved in response, however, was enough of an answer.

He smiled. "There is the face I was hoping for. Fear. You resemble America so much, little Kanata..."

He had reached out to brush a stray hair behind her ear, and she yanked back, struggling to maintain her composure. She wiped her face blank, trying not to scream.

"Yet it wasn't America you loved." He continued as he pulled his hand away, happier by the moment for every reaction he got from her. "Tell me, Kanata. How did you react when you heard what had happened to that fool named Prussia? How he tried to protect Germany, how he fell? How pretty his blood looked on the marble floor..."

"Shut up!" She shouted.

"Or what about your father? He died well, protecting the body of your papa. Silly France. He had redeeming qualities. I would have spared him. Yet, he'd rather put a bullet in his own brain than survive. Poor England tried to stop me from taking the body. In the end, England just proved he had no use, His old loyalties and affections to the others were just too deep."

Canada felt the memories run through her head, crying, screaming.

"Your foolish brother was a challenge, I admit, but he should have expected my strategy. He was too busy watching Cuba to realize I had a claim on him. His death was wonderful to watch, him fading away slowly, surrounded by screaming citizens..."

"THAT'S ENOUGH, RUSSIA!"

She stopped, realizing that the shout which had just echoed through the room had been her own.

Russia simply smiled darkly, pleased by yet another reaction. "I shall return soon then, ангел. Until then, I am confining you to this room. Oh, and about your bear. He is being taken good care of, but he is not nearby, so do not waste your dreams by praying for a rescue."

Canada lunged for the door as Russia stepped outside of it, but it snapped shut and locked with the sound of a click before she could yank it open again.

Trapped.

I'm trapped in this house with Russia.

***

The signing over of her lands felt like a betrayal to her very nature, a traitorous act to all who had fought and died not only for her, but the other nations as well. She guessed that now, with America gone, part of the spirit which had kept him always fighting had been absorbed into her.

She vowed she would not lose her identity, or her hope.

They allowed her to lower her flag. She embraced it as an old friend, and instead of folding it military style, she wrapped it around her body, an extra shelter from the wind. This might be the last time for several years she would hold her flag. Or perhaps, the last time for the rest of her life.

She watched the stripes of white, red, and blue raised on the flagpole. The last free nations conquered.

Much of the Caribbean now flew under Cuba's star.

Asia under China's red.

And Canada had no doubt the other continents had been divided up as well. She had had no news of the others for so long. She no longer knew who lived and who had died.

The maple leaf lay across her back, the red pulled up in front of her. One of his leaders tried to take it from her, to destroy it, but he stopped them swiftly. That was surprising to her, but she said nothing. They instead left her there, staring at the new flag, while wrapped in the old. She refused to listen to their words, though if she had tried, she would have understood them perfectly. But for now, she simply stayed there in silence.

He waited with her as she stared at his flag, raised on her soil, as though she were a mesmerized child. She wanted to make him leave, to make him disappear, to tear down his flag and replace it with her own once again, but she no longer had the strength. That was what happened when your people simply just gave up. The supernatural strength possessed by both of the North American siblings was gone.

Finally, he spoke again. "We must be getting back. Do you need help folding the flag?"

She was surprised by the question, and in her shock she nodded. Silently they folded it, Russia handling her flag with as much care as he would handle his own. She took off her backpack, and carefully placed it within. She would buy a proper flag frame for it later if they allowed her to keep it.

He opened the car door for her, and she got in, showing no resistance. He drove her home in silence. She gazed out the window, wondering if she would ever be able to feel anything again besides violation and fear.

When they reached the apartment, he didn't enter, but instead stopped her for a moment, pulling something out of his pocket as he stood on the other side of the door.

"I am sorry, ангел. I truly am." He said, sounding remorseful.

She was confused by his tone and actions, until he grabbed her hand and shoved the object into her hands, before turning and running down the stairs. He was headed home tonight.

Once she had closed and locked the door, despite knowing he now owned a key to her apartment, she opened her fist, and realized just what she was holding.

"Come on, Gil! Just let me try it on once!"She remembered begging him.

He sighed dramatically. As if he could resist her smile, or her laugh, or the promise that they were going to have a wild night tonight.

"Fine." He said a false reluctance.

He placed it around her neck, and she turned and looked at herself in the small mirror he had in his room.

The metal touched her throat, and she had to admit, she wasn't so sure now that it was a style statement she wanted to make.

"Hmm, I like it."He said after a moment of silence.

"Really? After all the effort it's taken for you to let me try it on once, you decide you like it on me?"

He grinned. "Marks you as mine."

She turned and swiftly kicked him in the leg. "Bâtard."

"Ah, come on, you know you love me." He replied, leaning in for a kiss, which she granted him.

The Iron Cross.

No, not just any Iron Cross.

His Iron Cross.

"Prusse..." She whispered, before leaning over and breaking down into sobs. Despite the years that had passed since the news of his death, it had always seemed a lie. Some small part of her had hoped that he was simply hiding, and Russia had faked his death. She knew that was false, but her heart had kept hoping.

But now she held something that he would have only let out of his sight in death.

She cried until she felt a wet nose press against her arm.

She turned and blinked, the surprise stunning her for a second.

A familiar face greeted her.

"Kuma!" She shouted through the tears, wrapping her arms around him tightly in an embrace.

"Who?" He said, confused and almost frightened.

"Canada." She replied, pressing her face into his fur.

The bear made a content noise, and though she still felt immense sorrow, at least it had been offset by Kuma's return.

The next morning, when she dressed in civilian clothes, she clasped the ribbon around her neck. It still bore the same comfortable weight, the same feeling. The Iron Cross lay at the base of her throat, a dead nation's symbol, but it made her feel like he was right next to her.

You're missed, mon amour. She thought as she stepped outside to face a new day.

Translations

Russian
мой ангел - my angel
Нет, ангел. - No, angel

French
bâtard - bastard
merde - shit
Aller te faire foutre, Russie. - Go fuck yourself, Russia
Prusse - Prussia
mon amour - my love