❝i can't touch you anymore there's so much to hate you for❞
Title: Your Hands Dye the World Red
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1,400+
Characters: Russia ;; Ukraine ;; Belarus ;; OC’s: Uzbekistan, Afghanistan
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence ;; random symbolism
Summary: Prompt 2 for hetalia_contest. As Russia’s war in Afghanistan goes wrong, he lashes out at those closest to him. (My interpretation of the Chernobyl Incident.)
Your Hands Dye the World Red
I can’t touch you anymore.
Because everything your hands touch are dyed red-the burnt, deep red of your blood.
You had grabbed hold of everything, but it’s all slipping away now, isn’t it?
You can’t keep hold of anything forever-even your hands aren’t that strong.
Even if you dye me with your blood, you can’t hold me forever.
---
Present Day
MOSCOW, RUSSIA - 1988
“What do you mean ‘it’s not working’?” His voice was low, almost soft, but there could be no doubting the intensity, the anger, of his words.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. Her face went pale and she bowed her head. “I can’t help it, Russia. America’s called in Pakistan to help him.”
“You’re allowing us to be beaten by that obstinate child and his half-baked allies? Is that what you’re telling me, Uzbekistan?” Russia asked with deadly quiet.
“N-no, but you see, we’re not winning, Russia! How can we keep this up?”
“So you’ll let Afghanistan be lost to that corrupt, inequitable system?” Russia shook his head sadly. “How can we abandon her, let her be overrun?”
“I didn’t want this, either,” Uzbekistan persisted, tears in her dark eyes. “I don’t want to lose her-she’s my sister!”
Russia shook his head slowly, mockingly. “Then why couldn’t you convince her?”
“I tried! But she won’t listen-”
Her voice was cut off, abruptly, as one of Russia’s hands encircled her throat. Uzbekistan gasped, struggling for air. He held her aloft, and she gripped his one hand with both of hers, trying to claw him off of her.
Then, Russia threw her aside with one furious swipe of his hand. “You’re a failure, Uzbekistan. If you had any strength, you’d convince your sisters as I did mine.”
Uzbekistan, huddled in a heap on the floor, looked up for a moment to glare at her commander. Where he’d touched her neck, a vivid red handprint bloomed, like a brand of ownership.
“I think we all know how well you take care of your sisters,” she spat. With that, she rose with dignity to her feet and headed for the door. Just as she was about to leave the darkly-lit room, she turned around. “You’ll never win Afghanistan, you know. She is the one you will never hold in your hands.”
At her words, the mark on her neck seemed to glow like a smoldering flame. An instant later, she was gone.
Russia looked at the place she’d been and shook his head ruefully. After a moment, he threw back his head and laughed.
---
Two Years Earlier
CHERNOBYL, UKRAINE - 1986
The three Soviet republics sat quietly, almost as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something. Belarus was seated on the floor, her legs tucked neatly beneath her. She was only a foot away from Russia’s imposing armchair-though the way he sat in it, it might have been a throne. Ukraine was off to the side, perched delicately in a simple wooden chair.
She bit her lip, about to speak, when Russia held up one hand to silence her.
“Not now.” He spoke quietly-that had become his way, lately-and then shook his head. “No, wait-what were you going to say?”
Ukraine looked up, smiling apologetically. “Just that it’s nice to have you here. The three of us haven’t been together in so long…”
“I am always at Brother’s side,” Belarus commented primly.
“Y-yes, I know,” Ukraine murmured. Still, she stole a glance at Belarus’ cheek, where she could see the vivid imprint of Russia’s hand against the snow-white skin. She knew there were other such marks, as well-on Belarus’ wrists and arms, her stomach, her thigh. Ukraine wondered if her little sister still craved Russia’s touch.
“I’m very busy these days,” Russia remarked by way of explanation. “Which is why I called you here, actually.” He offered Ukraine a smile, but the warmth of it never reached his lavender eyes.
“Anything we can do to help you, Brother-” Belarus began immediately, but Russia cut her off.
“I require troops.” He spoke bluntly, not bothering to look at his sisters as he continued, “Afghanistan is not caving as quickly as I might have liked her to. It seems that she needs a little…persuasion.”
Like we all needed persuasion? Ukraine bit back the words. She looked down at her hands, both of which were bright with Russia’s mark upon them. She remembered holding his hand when he’d been a child-his hand had fit inside hers, then. Now he could grip both of hers in one of his.
“So you’ll send the troops through Uzbekistan-get them to Kabul as soon as possible.” It wasn’t a request.
“Russia…” Ukraine began tentatively, “how many casualties have there been in this war so far?”
“War?” Russia let out a small, humorless laugh. “This isn’t a war, Ukraine; we’re just…adding a new addition to the family.”
Belarus was nodding, obviously complying with Russia’s will. Ukraine, however, could only look down at her hands-all she could see was the red. It was all over her, and Belarus, and now Afghanistan would be consumed by it, as well?
“No.” She spoke so softly that she thought the others hadn’t heard her. But then, after a moment, Russia turned his head achingly towards her.
“Excuse me?” he asked with deadly quiet.
“I can’t do this, Russia,” Ukraine said sadly. “I can’t send my people to die for your war.”
“It’s not a war.”
“It is!” Ukraine insisted, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Russia, look at what you’re doing, please! We love you, but-”
Her next words were lost; Russia had risen to his feet and slapped her viciously across the face before she could finish her sentence. Ukraine fell out of her chair, tumbling to the ground as a Russia’s hand-print, beautifully red, bloomed on her cheek.
“B-brother-!” Belarus gasped, getting to her feet.
“Stay back,” Russia ordered. Belarus froze, looking from Russia to Ukraine and then back again. Russia, however, was stricken by no such indecision. He reached down and grabbed Ukraine roughly by the shoulders, hoisting her up. “Who said you could disobey me?” he asked.
Ukraine shook her head dumbly, caught between fear and pain. Russia’s grip on her tightened, and she could feel new spots of red rising on her pale skin.
“Who?” Russia demanded, as his fist made contact with Ukraine’s stomach. “You belong to me! I hold your fate in my hands! We-are-a-family-!” With each word, he hit her again. Ukraine was too broken by this point to fight back, and only watched Russia sadly through her pale eyes.
“Brother!” Belarus cried, coming up behind Russia and grabbing one of his arms. “Stop! You’re hurting her!”
“Get away!” Russia roared, throwing her off. Belarus slammed against the wall, the fine lace of her dress ripping audibly.
“Bela-” Ukraine gasped, coughing. Russia grabbed her upper-arm and dragged her across the room to Belarus. His fingers laced through his younger sister’s hair, bringing her forcibly to her feet.
“You two need to understand something,” Russia murmured, his hands digging into their skin, “you are mine. You do not disobey me-so when I say I need troops, you give me the damn troops!”
It was as though the room had exploded. Belarus whimpered like a frightened child, a wild, confused panic in her icy eyes. Ukraine slumped, her face already bruising.
Russia heaved, his breathing heavy. Then he dropped his hold on both of his sisters and stormed from the room.
---
Present Day
MOSCOW, RUSSIA - 1988
“Russia?” A low knock came at the door, and Russia recognized his elder sister’s voice.
“Come in.”
Ukraine entered, smiling softly at him. Two years after the incident at Chernobyl, the red imprints of his hands had begun to fade from her body-but they both still remembered it. She nodded deferentially at him.
“I heard you’re pulling out of Afghanistan?”
Russia nodded. “Yes-there’s no point in staying.”
“I see.”
“Is that all?” he asked blandly.
“Um, yes-unless you need something?” He shook his head, and she turned to leave. Just before she crossed the threshold, she heard him murmur:
“It’s all slipping away…right through my fingers…It’s going to end with nothing left in my hands…”
---
Russia, Russia…nothing’s quite so red anymore.
Your handprints, they’re fading…some of us are already free of your mark.
Are you happy though, Russia?
Did you grasp your dream in your hands?
---
Footnotes:
* The Chernobyl Disaster was the biggest nuclear disaster in history. A roughly-made nuclear plant in Ukraine exploded, causing severe damage and casualties in Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia.
* The Soviet War in Afghanistan was called “Russia’s Vietnam” for good reason-when Russian troops pulled out, it signaled the beginning of the end of Soviet Russia.
* This fic is not meant to antagonize Russia-rather, it is meant to portray the increasing desperation of the Communist leadership that lead to the two catastrophic events described above.
* Russia’s hands leave red marks on everyone he touches because he’s “branding” them with Communism and his ownership. As Soviet control falters, the marks begin to fade.
* Ukraine is speaking in the “prologue” and “epilogue”.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: 1,400+
Characters: Russia ;; Ukraine ;; Belarus ;; OC’s: Uzbekistan, Afghanistan
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence ;; random symbolism
Summary: Prompt 2 for hetalia_contest. As Russia’s war in Afghanistan goes wrong, he lashes out at those closest to him. (My interpretation of the Chernobyl Incident.)
Your Hands Dye the World Red
I can’t touch you anymore.
Because everything your hands touch are dyed red-the burnt, deep red of your blood.
You had grabbed hold of everything, but it’s all slipping away now, isn’t it?
You can’t keep hold of anything forever-even your hands aren’t that strong.
Even if you dye me with your blood, you can’t hold me forever.
---
Present Day
MOSCOW, RUSSIA - 1988
“What do you mean ‘it’s not working’?” His voice was low, almost soft, but there could be no doubting the intensity, the anger, of his words.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. Her face went pale and she bowed her head. “I can’t help it, Russia. America’s called in Pakistan to help him.”
“You’re allowing us to be beaten by that obstinate child and his half-baked allies? Is that what you’re telling me, Uzbekistan?” Russia asked with deadly quiet.
“N-no, but you see, we’re not winning, Russia! How can we keep this up?”
“So you’ll let Afghanistan be lost to that corrupt, inequitable system?” Russia shook his head sadly. “How can we abandon her, let her be overrun?”
“I didn’t want this, either,” Uzbekistan persisted, tears in her dark eyes. “I don’t want to lose her-she’s my sister!”
Russia shook his head slowly, mockingly. “Then why couldn’t you convince her?”
“I tried! But she won’t listen-”
Her voice was cut off, abruptly, as one of Russia’s hands encircled her throat. Uzbekistan gasped, struggling for air. He held her aloft, and she gripped his one hand with both of hers, trying to claw him off of her.
Then, Russia threw her aside with one furious swipe of his hand. “You’re a failure, Uzbekistan. If you had any strength, you’d convince your sisters as I did mine.”
Uzbekistan, huddled in a heap on the floor, looked up for a moment to glare at her commander. Where he’d touched her neck, a vivid red handprint bloomed, like a brand of ownership.
“I think we all know how well you take care of your sisters,” she spat. With that, she rose with dignity to her feet and headed for the door. Just as she was about to leave the darkly-lit room, she turned around. “You’ll never win Afghanistan, you know. She is the one you will never hold in your hands.”
At her words, the mark on her neck seemed to glow like a smoldering flame. An instant later, she was gone.
Russia looked at the place she’d been and shook his head ruefully. After a moment, he threw back his head and laughed.
---
Two Years Earlier
CHERNOBYL, UKRAINE - 1986
The three Soviet republics sat quietly, almost as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something. Belarus was seated on the floor, her legs tucked neatly beneath her. She was only a foot away from Russia’s imposing armchair-though the way he sat in it, it might have been a throne. Ukraine was off to the side, perched delicately in a simple wooden chair.
She bit her lip, about to speak, when Russia held up one hand to silence her.
“Not now.” He spoke quietly-that had become his way, lately-and then shook his head. “No, wait-what were you going to say?”
Ukraine looked up, smiling apologetically. “Just that it’s nice to have you here. The three of us haven’t been together in so long…”
“I am always at Brother’s side,” Belarus commented primly.
“Y-yes, I know,” Ukraine murmured. Still, she stole a glance at Belarus’ cheek, where she could see the vivid imprint of Russia’s hand against the snow-white skin. She knew there were other such marks, as well-on Belarus’ wrists and arms, her stomach, her thigh. Ukraine wondered if her little sister still craved Russia’s touch.
“I’m very busy these days,” Russia remarked by way of explanation. “Which is why I called you here, actually.” He offered Ukraine a smile, but the warmth of it never reached his lavender eyes.
“Anything we can do to help you, Brother-” Belarus began immediately, but Russia cut her off.
“I require troops.” He spoke bluntly, not bothering to look at his sisters as he continued, “Afghanistan is not caving as quickly as I might have liked her to. It seems that she needs a little…persuasion.”
Like we all needed persuasion? Ukraine bit back the words. She looked down at her hands, both of which were bright with Russia’s mark upon them. She remembered holding his hand when he’d been a child-his hand had fit inside hers, then. Now he could grip both of hers in one of his.
“So you’ll send the troops through Uzbekistan-get them to Kabul as soon as possible.” It wasn’t a request.
“Russia…” Ukraine began tentatively, “how many casualties have there been in this war so far?”
“War?” Russia let out a small, humorless laugh. “This isn’t a war, Ukraine; we’re just…adding a new addition to the family.”
Belarus was nodding, obviously complying with Russia’s will. Ukraine, however, could only look down at her hands-all she could see was the red. It was all over her, and Belarus, and now Afghanistan would be consumed by it, as well?
“No.” She spoke so softly that she thought the others hadn’t heard her. But then, after a moment, Russia turned his head achingly towards her.
“Excuse me?” he asked with deadly quiet.
“I can’t do this, Russia,” Ukraine said sadly. “I can’t send my people to die for your war.”
“It’s not a war.”
“It is!” Ukraine insisted, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Russia, look at what you’re doing, please! We love you, but-”
Her next words were lost; Russia had risen to his feet and slapped her viciously across the face before she could finish her sentence. Ukraine fell out of her chair, tumbling to the ground as a Russia’s hand-print, beautifully red, bloomed on her cheek.
“B-brother-!” Belarus gasped, getting to her feet.
“Stay back,” Russia ordered. Belarus froze, looking from Russia to Ukraine and then back again. Russia, however, was stricken by no such indecision. He reached down and grabbed Ukraine roughly by the shoulders, hoisting her up. “Who said you could disobey me?” he asked.
Ukraine shook her head dumbly, caught between fear and pain. Russia’s grip on her tightened, and she could feel new spots of red rising on her pale skin.
“Who?” Russia demanded, as his fist made contact with Ukraine’s stomach. “You belong to me! I hold your fate in my hands! We-are-a-family-!” With each word, he hit her again. Ukraine was too broken by this point to fight back, and only watched Russia sadly through her pale eyes.
“Brother!” Belarus cried, coming up behind Russia and grabbing one of his arms. “Stop! You’re hurting her!”
“Get away!” Russia roared, throwing her off. Belarus slammed against the wall, the fine lace of her dress ripping audibly.
“Bela-” Ukraine gasped, coughing. Russia grabbed her upper-arm and dragged her across the room to Belarus. His fingers laced through his younger sister’s hair, bringing her forcibly to her feet.
“You two need to understand something,” Russia murmured, his hands digging into their skin, “you are mine. You do not disobey me-so when I say I need troops, you give me the damn troops!”
It was as though the room had exploded. Belarus whimpered like a frightened child, a wild, confused panic in her icy eyes. Ukraine slumped, her face already bruising.
Russia heaved, his breathing heavy. Then he dropped his hold on both of his sisters and stormed from the room.
---
Present Day
MOSCOW, RUSSIA - 1988
“Russia?” A low knock came at the door, and Russia recognized his elder sister’s voice.
“Come in.”
Ukraine entered, smiling softly at him. Two years after the incident at Chernobyl, the red imprints of his hands had begun to fade from her body-but they both still remembered it. She nodded deferentially at him.
“I heard you’re pulling out of Afghanistan?”
Russia nodded. “Yes-there’s no point in staying.”
“I see.”
“Is that all?” he asked blandly.
“Um, yes-unless you need something?” He shook his head, and she turned to leave. Just before she crossed the threshold, she heard him murmur:
“It’s all slipping away…right through my fingers…It’s going to end with nothing left in my hands…”
---
Russia, Russia…nothing’s quite so red anymore.
Your handprints, they’re fading…some of us are already free of your mark.
Are you happy though, Russia?
Did you grasp your dream in your hands?
---
Footnotes:
* The Chernobyl Disaster was the biggest nuclear disaster in history. A roughly-made nuclear plant in Ukraine exploded, causing severe damage and casualties in Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia.
* The Soviet War in Afghanistan was called “Russia’s Vietnam” for good reason-when Russian troops pulled out, it signaled the beginning of the end of Soviet Russia.
* This fic is not meant to antagonize Russia-rather, it is meant to portray the increasing desperation of the Communist leadership that lead to the two catastrophic events described above.
* Russia’s hands leave red marks on everyone he touches because he’s “branding” them with Communism and his ownership. As Soviet control falters, the marks begin to fade.
* Ukraine is speaking in the “prologue” and “epilogue”.