Constraints [1/5?]
anonymous
November 17 2009, 02:40:54 UTC
I think it'll be five parts. Not sure.
Also, I apologize if it seems a bit rushed, but I'm also doing NaNo, and really, I shouldn't be doing fills at all, so... yeah.
Pretty sure it'll be five parts, but it might be six. Now on with the fill already, amirite?
A Nation cannot hurt his people.
That wasn't a platitude, or a rule, or a guideline, or a moral decision. It was a fact. A law of reality. A Nation could not, barring no circumstance, personally bring harm to his people. Not maliciously. Not knowingly. Not with his own hands.
Ivan's breathing was labored. He panted with exertion, with pain, with fear. He was unbound. The pipe he habitually carried was right there, in plain sight, within easy reach. He had only to move his hand a few centimeters forward to touch, another to grasp it. He was easily stronger than the man looming over him- it would take only one swing to knock him aside and end the pain and torment.
But he could not, and they both knew it, for Josef Stalin was one of Ivan's people. A citizen of Russia. Ivan could not harm him. Could not even realistically think of it. He could no more raise that pipe or his own hand against Stalin than he could sprout wings and fly.
Ivan was sobbing, the broken, hopeless sobs of a child who has just learned that there is no Father Christmas. He was just barely aware of General Winter raging outside, hurling snow and wind and ice at the walls and rattling the windows. Ivan clung to the illusion that this degradation and pain angered the old General, and that he was trying to come to his rescue. If not for that pretty daydream, what little sanity he had left would have crumbled long ago.
After what felt like an eternity, the pain turned in a flash to unbearable agony as something burning hot gushed into him, and he choked on a scream as Stalin drew away, leaving him bloody and exposed on the bed, naked and used, wide and terrified eyes fixed on the ceiling. His leader, the idol of his people, his boss and champion and protector- he didn't want to think what he might see if he looked at him, what expression he would find staring back.
Stalin left without a word, taking with him what little warmth was left in the room, and Ivan began to tremble violently.
A Nation cannot harm his people.
Ivan tried to pretend it was nothing, that there had been no betrayal. He could not let his people think he was weak- they would lose heart if he confessed, allowed them to know.
But that man - that monster, for only a monster would do such things - smiled at him when they met in the hallway. It was a sickening smile that forced Ivan to look away, for Stalin knew, and his smile said so. Ivan could not hide the truth from Stalin.
Stalin was his boss, and they had to work together. Often, they met alone to discuss things, for Stalin was suspicious and disliked others knowing all his secrets. He could not be avoided, and Ivan prayed for something to happen that would separate them, give him a moment's peace, anything to escape the man.
But there was no escape. Ivan was trapped, as surely as a meek and docile house cat locked in a cage, a prison made of himself, and Stalin held the only key.
Constraints [2/5?]
anonymous
November 17 2009, 02:43:40 UTC
A week passed, and then another, and Ivan began to feel whole again, as though he could cope.
And as soon as he could smile again, Stalin returned to his bed.
Again, the man asked for no consent, simply stripped Ivan of his clothing and pushed him down, mocking him even as he violated him, taunting him, encouraging him to lift the pipe and strike out, laughing at him when he did nothing but cry.
And every time Ivan began to recover from one attack, Stalin raped him again, and the cycle began anew. And each renewal broken Ivan closer and closer to a deep, ominous cliff in his mind, until he teetered on the very brink of it. And he knew that one more time, one last step, and he would be lost, and his people, his children, the citizens that so loved his abuser and needed him so- they would suffer.
But a Nation could not harm his people, and Ivan could not save himself.
Finally, finally, Ivan was granted peace. There was no call for Stalin to be at the meeting- the conference was for Nations alone, and their bosses did not attend, and so he had some peace.
But the conference would end, and he would be forced to return to Russia, to Stalin, and be forced to take that last reluctant step over the edge.
Ivan could not save himself- he had to find someone who would rescue him before it was too late.
Those of the Soviet would not help him. Gilbert hated him, the Baltics were too timid and cowed, and he could not bear the thought of confessing his torments to his sisters.
In truth, he did not wish for anyone to know, but finally, he settled on one to tell and approached Arthur. Arthur was a gentleman with strongly-held morals- surely he would know how to stop this.
It was hard to corner Arthur alone, but Ivan finally did, telling the smaller Nation his tale in a low, tense voice, holding to himself with will alone, not wanting to break down where the others could see him.
Arthur remained silent once he finished, gazing at him evenly, sipping at his ever-present cup of tea, until Ivan finally sighed.
“You do not believe me, da?” He asked with a small, sad smile.
“You're smarter than you look.” Arthur said, expression unchanging. “Though that isn't saying much. And even assuming you were telling the truth, which I doubt, why would I bloody well care?”
That surprised Ivan. He had known Arthur might think he was lying, but...
“It's too bad it isn't true- it'd be fitting to have a taste of your own medicine for once.” Arthur continued, draining his cup. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to waste my time on.”
And he walked away, leaving Ivan alone in the corner and struggling desperately not to cry.
Constraints [3/5?]
anonymous
November 17 2009, 02:46:15 UTC
They were all whispering the next day. He could hear them, caught snatches of words and phrases as they gave him sidelong glances and snickered behind their hands. Ivan did his best to ignore them, to concentrate on important things and hold himself together, but it was hard.
Twice during the meeting, he caught Lithuania giving him searching looks, delicate brow furrowed with thought, as if weighing whether or not the rumor he had undoubtedly heard was truth or lie. More than one Nation caught Ivan's eye and smirked, or made rude gestures where only Ivan could see them.
The meeting seemed to drag on forever, and part of Ivan wished it would last forever, for the stares were better than the truth they refused to believe. He would rather their ridicule than Stalin's abuse. But time ticked by, and the end of the day came too quickly for Ivan, and not quickly enough.
Everyone began to gather their things. Ivan concentrated on his papers, trying desperately to think of someone, anyone, who might believe him, help him.
“Hey, Russia!” Ivan looked up, startled, to find Gilbert standing over him, leering. “I hear you're taking it up the ass these days.” The red-eyed Prussian said, crossing his arms. “How's it feel to be on the receiving end for once?”
“Wh-what?” Ivan asked, almost not aware of how weak his voice was.
“Prussia, that's tasteless, aru.” Yao said with a sigh. “It was a bad joke on Russia's part, aru. No need to make it worse, aru.”
Joke? Yao believed this to be a joke?
“Not even Russia's that tasteless.” Elizaveta sniffed disdainfully. “Prussia, maybe, but not Russia. He really is getting what's coming to him.”
Russia's mind went blank. He ceased breathing for a moment, frozen, then began to pack his things with surreal calm, letting the discussion wash over him. Yao believed it to be a joke of very poor taste, while Elizaveta held it was true and well-deserved. Of course. Neither thought should surprise him.
He stood and smiled at them all. All of the innocence was gone from that smile, replaced by mocking bitterness, and even the faintest whispers in the far corners of the room died.
“It is useless, da?” He asked the room, not expecting an answer. “I am just a monster to you. Monsters deserve no mercy. I wish I had not spoken- it would have been nice to believe I had allies. To believe even one of you might care. But dreams are for children, and I suppose I am not a child.”
Their faces were shocked and suspicious. No one moved or spoke.
“We will not see each other again.” Once he returned, Stalin would attack him again, and he would no longer be able to stand reality- he would have no choice but to retreat into insanity, no matter what became of his people. “I suppose you will all be glad of that, da? The monster gone from your midst?”
He picked up his bag and turned, walking to the door. He swore to himself he would not cry. That he would not be that weak, would not show them how much the betrayal hurt. His conviction on that was so strong that he was unaware of the fact that he had begun to cry as soon as he spoke.
Constraints [4/5?]
anonymous
November 17 2009, 02:49:20 UTC
Silence followed Ivan's exit. None of the Nations still in the room were quite sure what to make of that speech for a long moment, then the room erupted in a confused babble.
“You don't think maybe he-”
“No, it's, like, totally a joke, there's no way-”
“Maybe we shouldn't-”
“The nerve of that guy-”
“He's right about him being a monster, though-”
“Karma sucks, right?”
“Karma was invented in Korea, and this is definitely-”
“Ve, Ludwig, do you think-”
“I mean, who would be strong enough to-”
“It's not like he can't defend himself, he's good at hurting people-”
“Really, it's none of our business-”
More than a dozen conversations clashed and overlapped, filling the room with voices competing to be heard. There was only one exception to the conversation, and no one noticed his silence until Alfred stood, picked up his chair, and threw it against the wall. It splintered and shattered into pieces, stunning everyone in the room, and they all turned to stare at him.
“You're all a bunch of assholes.” He said, glaring at the rest of the assembly. “Every last one of you, and I'm ashamed to admit I know you at all, much less that some of you are my allies. This isn't a joke, and I'd like everyone who's talking about divine justice and karma to shoot themselves in the foot, 'cause Lithuania lost his virginity to me, thank you very fucking much.”
With that, he stalked across the room, shoving aside anyone who didn't get out of the way fast enough and slamming the door behind him.
Alfred found Ivan in an empty meeting hall, curled up in a far corner and sobbing into his scarf. The towering Russian didn't respond to his name being called, or to Alfred squatting next to him, and his reaction to being touched was disheartening- he choked on his sobs, going completely limp, not moving except for a faint tremble running through his body.
But his eyes... his eyes were the worst, and told Alfred all he needed to know. They were wide, glazed over with fear, and unfocused, staring into space, as if what he'd see in reality was just too horrible to force himself to look. Alfred drew back, closing his own eyes until he stopped wanting to break things. Ivan didn't need anger, he needed help.
The rumor had apparently started with Arthur.
Alfred stood regretfully, hesitating a moment, then took off his bomber jacket and draped it over Ivan's shoulders before turning and running out of the room. He returned to the main hall, found Arthur, and grabbed his arm, dragging him off without explanation. No one seemed to want to interfere right now, and Arthur was no match for Alfred's strength- he was dragged down the hall despite all his protesting and fighting, into another room, and shoved at Ivan, almost falling on top of the man.
“Help me get him up.” Alfred ordered flatly, kneeling beside Ivan and touching his shoulder.
Ivan went limp again, whimpering pathetically this time, and Alfred glared up at Arthur.
“Don't just stand there and gape, asshole- help him like you should have yesterday.”
Constraints [5/6]
anonymous
November 17 2009, 02:51:32 UTC
Both of them together managed to lift Ivan and support him out of the hall and back to the hotel where he was staying. They got him settled as comfortably as possible, then Alfred literally kicked Arthur out, leaving a boot print on the back of Arthur's jacket and a bruise on his face from hitting the wall.
Alfred was very, very pissed. Not just as his fellow Nations and their high-handed, smugly superior, absolutely inexcusably cruel treatment of Ivan, but also at whoever had brought him to the point where he'd make himself so vulnerable for the sake of getting help.
He dragged a chair next to the bed and made himself comfortable. Those assholes could do whatever the hell they wanted, but even if no one else was going to believe Ivan and help him, Alfred was. Heroes did not let this shit go.
Ivan didn't sleep for long- he was awake after about an hour, his eyes wide and frightened again, but thankfully focused on reality.
“You okay, big guy?” Alfred asked, smiling, and Ivan nodded slowly. “Good. Look, I'd like to apologize on behalf of all those idiots back there.”
Ivan tried to smile, but wound up looking like he was about to cry again. “It is of no moment.” He said. “I should not have expected-”
“Yes, you damned well should have.” Alfred interrupted, his anger bubbling to the surface. “Who the hell are they to cast moral judgment on you? If you're being hurt, especially like this, you deserve to be helped. You deserve to be believed and protected.”
Ivan shook his head, curling up more under the blankets. “No, no, they are right- a monster deserves such punishment. I will be fine.”
“You're going crazy, Ivan. I've seen this happen before, I know what going crazy looks like, and you won't be fine. I bet just one more time will make you snap, won't it?”
Ivan shook his head again, shrinking back when Alfred growled and kicked the bed.
“Who is it? Mr. I'm-the-fucking-United-Kingdom-and-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-about-anyone-else didn't choose to share that with the rest of us.”
Ivan hesitated a long moment, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally whispering, “A Nation cannot harm his people.”
Ivan slept restlessly that night- he dreamed of being pursued through a blizzard by something huge, evil, and unstoppable. He came across people in the midst of the howling wind, but none of them could hear him, and none of them would help him, so he kept running. He could feel the cliff ahead- if he could make it to the cliff, jump from it, the evil chasing him would not be able to follow. Beyond the cliff, he would be safe.
But just before the cliff, a wall loomed out of the snow, massive and high, barring the way to safety. The evil was drawing closer, and he was trapped.
He woke to find his cheeks wet with tears, his pillow soaked with them, and Alfred asleep, slumped in the chair beside the bed. It was warm in the room, and Ivan was still fully dressed, but he shook with the remembered cold of his dream as he sat up, drying his eyes.
He did not want to return to Russia, though he could feel his people calling for him. The evil in his dream had been Stalin, he was sure, and he felt as if there was now a wall between him and the blessing of true insanity that would be his only refuge.
Eventually, with the light of dawn filtering through the flimsy hotel curtains, Ivan drifted off to sleep again.
Constraints [6/6]
anonymous
November 17 2009, 02:57:31 UTC
Alfred woke with a neckache. Small wonder, since he'd spent all night sleeping in a chair. Also, his back hurt and he had a headache. But Ivan seemed to be sleeping okay, so he smiled and stood and stretched quietly before slipping out of the room.
Arthur was waiting uncomfortably in the hall, shifting from foot to foot and looking like he'd rather be naked and tied to Francis's bed than here.
“How... how is he?” He asked quietly, not meeting Alfred's eyes.
“As well as can be expected, considering he's been raped by one of his own citizens and you spread that fact around like it's fucking funny.”
Arthur at least had the decency to wince. “It's... not a citizen, Alfred.” He said after a moment, biting his lip. “It's his... his boss.”
Alfred stared at him for a long moment, face blank, before backhanding him into the wall.
“You absolute ass.” He snarled, glaring down at Arthur. “I swear to fucking God, when I'm done with Stalin, I'm coming after you.”
Ivan didn't return to Russia, after all. Not immediately, at least. Instead, he found himself bundled off to Arthur's house, because according to Alfred, “anyone with half a brain would look for you at my place, but no one would expect Arthur to take you in, right?”
And surprisingly, Arthur seemed to believe now. He was awkward, timid, and walked on eggshells around Ivan.
But Ivan was content, because there was no Stalin here to haunt him, and he was warm. He saw no one but Arthur and occasionally Alfred. There was no window and he was not allowed to leave the room, and Arthur's cooking was terrible and tasteless, but Ivan did not mind in the least. He ate the bland meals he was provided, wished they were made as well as the tea he was given to drink, and let time pass without even attempting to keep track of it.
It could have been a year, a century, a month, before Alfred appeared one day and smiled at him.
“You can go home, Ivan.” The blond said. “Stalin croaked. He's dead.”
Ivan stared at him for a long moment, and Alfred met his gaze unwaveringly, his ever fiber radiating sincerity.
“How?” He found the wit to ask.
“The doctors say a stroke.” Alfred said with a wink. “And hey, maybe they're right. Or maybe not.” He took Ivan's hand, pulling him to his feet, and hugged him gently.
“If they are wrong?” Ivan asked, shivering, daring to believe. Humans died. Stalin was not immortal, so he might really be gone. Ivan might truly be free of him.
“Well,” Alfred said, leading him out of the room, hand holding his gently. “A Nation can't harm his people and all, but Stalin sure as hell wasn't one of my people.”
Ivan blinked, then smiled. He felt as though he hadn't smiled in decades. He smiled, and gently squeezed Alfred's hand, surprised and gratified when his fellow Nation squeezed back, tossing a smile of his own over his shoulder.
A Nation cannot harm his people. When it comes to the demons of other Nations, however, they suffer under no such constraints.
It feels so fail, but I know me, and it's probably better than I think it is. Still.
I'm sorry it's a bit of a rush job, but like Trigger!Anon, I'm doing NaNo *thinks he said that already* and that story's a Hetalia fanfic dealing with the aftereffects of rape, among other tortures, so I probably should have waited to fill this, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone.
Hope you guys like it even a little. Maybe it won't seem so fail if I write a sequel... *kills self*
Trigger!Anon
anonymous
November 17 2009, 03:11:37 UTC
Oh, Ivan...
Your Alfred gets several Crowning Moments of Awesome. Especially the part about Lithuania. While I will admit I felt some parts were rushed, I can't wait to see what you do with this when you de-anon - this feels as though it could be extended into a multi-chaptered story.
But take time with your NaNo, and then come back and play with this a bit, if you feel the need. Well done, Anon, everything considered.
I feel as though you're someone I know on my f-list....
Re: Trigger!Anon
anonymous
November 17 2009, 03:24:05 UTC
I don't think I'll ever de-anon, at least not on lj. If anything, I'll probably wind up posting anything here that I rewrite on dA. I just don't feel comfortable on lj yet, since I've only been here for a week.
Yet this is my fifth fill on the kink meme. I'm such a meme-whore. ;-;
*ahem*
Any tips on what can be improved for when I come back to this story? Effusive praise is nice and all, but I like advice better.
Re: Trigger!Anon
anonymous
November 17 2009, 03:36:12 UTC
Advice...hmm. Let me think.
When you come back to this, the first thing I'd suggest is writing out more scenes between Arthur and Ivan - particularly when Ivan comes to stay with Arthur. It doesn't even have to be talking - just show us that Arthur is walking on eggshells with Ivan, rather than telling us. And maybe experiment with using flashbacks as well, instead of telling us all about the abuse in the beginning. Reveal what happened in pieces - that will allow you to get to the meeting - and the conflict there - faster.
...I hope that made sense, at least, and that it helps you when the time comes. Good luck!
Ah, never mind, I just thought I knew you from somewhere. An F-list is a friendslist.
Re: Trigger!Anon
anonymous
November 17 2009, 03:43:26 UTC
It made perfect sense, and I'll definitely take it into account later, although I made a conscious decision to start with the abuse and work from there.
The lack of flashbacks is due to the abundance of them in my NaNo project (poor Alfred ;-; ), and when I'm writing two similar stories at once, they tend to bleed over and I feel like I'm overusing something if I use it in both stories. Hence why I said I should probably have waited to write this.
I wanted more Arthur/Ivan screen time, but it's already almost my bedtime, and I wanted to be done tonight. This is why, at least in my eyes, this fill is sort of fail. -3-
As a born and raised American who's proud of his country - even when we're basically being the jackasses of the world (*does not approve of Iraq*) - I find I tend to make America very badass. I try not to fawn too much. ^^;
*hands you tissues*
I am glad you liked it, but this is definitely a fill I'll be revisiting come December.
Also, I apologize if it seems a bit rushed, but I'm also doing NaNo, and really, I shouldn't be doing fills at all, so... yeah.
Pretty sure it'll be five parts, but it might be six. Now on with the fill already, amirite?
A Nation cannot hurt his people.
That wasn't a platitude, or a rule, or a guideline, or a moral decision. It was a fact. A law of reality. A Nation could not, barring no circumstance, personally bring harm to his people. Not maliciously. Not knowingly. Not with his own hands.
Ivan's breathing was labored. He panted with exertion, with pain, with fear. He was unbound. The pipe he habitually carried was right there, in plain sight, within easy reach. He had only to move his hand a few centimeters forward to touch, another to grasp it. He was easily stronger than the man looming over him- it would take only one swing to knock him aside and end the pain and torment.
But he could not, and they both knew it, for Josef Stalin was one of Ivan's people. A citizen of Russia. Ivan could not harm him. Could not even realistically think of it. He could no more raise that pipe or his own hand against Stalin than he could sprout wings and fly.
Ivan was sobbing, the broken, hopeless sobs of a child who has just learned that there is no Father Christmas. He was just barely aware of General Winter raging outside, hurling snow and wind and ice at the walls and rattling the windows. Ivan clung to the illusion that this degradation and pain angered the old General, and that he was trying to come to his rescue. If not for that pretty daydream, what little sanity he had left would have crumbled long ago.
After what felt like an eternity, the pain turned in a flash to unbearable agony as something burning hot gushed into him, and he choked on a scream as Stalin drew away, leaving him bloody and exposed on the bed, naked and used, wide and terrified eyes fixed on the ceiling. His leader, the idol of his people, his boss and champion and protector- he didn't want to think what he might see if he looked at him, what expression he would find staring back.
Stalin left without a word, taking with him what little warmth was left in the room, and Ivan began to tremble violently.
A Nation cannot harm his people.
Ivan tried to pretend it was nothing, that there had been no betrayal. He could not let his people think he was weak- they would lose heart if he confessed, allowed them to know.
But that man - that monster, for only a monster would do such things - smiled at him when they met in the hallway. It was a sickening smile that forced Ivan to look away, for Stalin knew, and his smile said so. Ivan could not hide the truth from Stalin.
Stalin was his boss, and they had to work together. Often, they met alone to discuss things, for Stalin was suspicious and disliked others knowing all his secrets. He could not be avoided, and Ivan prayed for something to happen that would separate them, give him a moment's peace, anything to escape the man.
But there was no escape. Ivan was trapped, as surely as a meek and docile house cat locked in a cage, a prison made of himself, and Stalin held the only key.
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And as soon as he could smile again, Stalin returned to his bed.
Again, the man asked for no consent, simply stripped Ivan of his clothing and pushed him down, mocking him even as he violated him, taunting him, encouraging him to lift the pipe and strike out, laughing at him when he did nothing but cry.
And every time Ivan began to recover from one attack, Stalin raped him again, and the cycle began anew. And each renewal broken Ivan closer and closer to a deep, ominous cliff in his mind, until he teetered on the very brink of it. And he knew that one more time, one last step, and he would be lost, and his people, his children, the citizens that so loved his abuser and needed him so- they would suffer.
But a Nation could not harm his people, and Ivan could not save himself.
Finally, finally, Ivan was granted peace. There was no call for Stalin to be at the meeting- the conference was for Nations alone, and their bosses did not attend, and so he had some peace.
But the conference would end, and he would be forced to return to Russia, to Stalin, and be forced to take that last reluctant step over the edge.
Ivan could not save himself- he had to find someone who would rescue him before it was too late.
Those of the Soviet would not help him. Gilbert hated him, the Baltics were too timid and cowed, and he could not bear the thought of confessing his torments to his sisters.
In truth, he did not wish for anyone to know, but finally, he settled on one to tell and approached Arthur. Arthur was a gentleman with strongly-held morals- surely he would know how to stop this.
It was hard to corner Arthur alone, but Ivan finally did, telling the smaller Nation his tale in a low, tense voice, holding to himself with will alone, not wanting to break down where the others could see him.
Arthur remained silent once he finished, gazing at him evenly, sipping at his ever-present cup of tea, until Ivan finally sighed.
“You do not believe me, da?” He asked with a small, sad smile.
“You're smarter than you look.” Arthur said, expression unchanging. “Though that isn't saying much. And even assuming you were telling the truth, which I doubt, why would I bloody well care?”
That surprised Ivan. He had known Arthur might think he was lying, but...
“It's too bad it isn't true- it'd be fitting to have a taste of your own medicine for once.” Arthur continued, draining his cup. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to waste my time on.”
And he walked away, leaving Ivan alone in the corner and struggling desperately not to cry.
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Twice during the meeting, he caught Lithuania giving him searching looks, delicate brow furrowed with thought, as if weighing whether or not the rumor he had undoubtedly heard was truth or lie. More than one Nation caught Ivan's eye and smirked, or made rude gestures where only Ivan could see them.
The meeting seemed to drag on forever, and part of Ivan wished it would last forever, for the stares were better than the truth they refused to believe. He would rather their ridicule than Stalin's abuse. But time ticked by, and the end of the day came too quickly for Ivan, and not quickly enough.
Everyone began to gather their things. Ivan concentrated on his papers, trying desperately to think of someone, anyone, who might believe him, help him.
“Hey, Russia!” Ivan looked up, startled, to find Gilbert standing over him, leering. “I hear you're taking it up the ass these days.” The red-eyed Prussian said, crossing his arms. “How's it feel to be on the receiving end for once?”
“Wh-what?” Ivan asked, almost not aware of how weak his voice was.
“Prussia, that's tasteless, aru.” Yao said with a sigh. “It was a bad joke on Russia's part, aru. No need to make it worse, aru.”
Joke? Yao believed this to be a joke?
“Not even Russia's that tasteless.” Elizaveta sniffed disdainfully. “Prussia, maybe, but not Russia. He really is getting what's coming to him.”
Russia's mind went blank. He ceased breathing for a moment, frozen, then began to pack his things with surreal calm, letting the discussion wash over him. Yao believed it to be a joke of very poor taste, while Elizaveta held it was true and well-deserved. Of course. Neither thought should surprise him.
He stood and smiled at them all. All of the innocence was gone from that smile, replaced by mocking bitterness, and even the faintest whispers in the far corners of the room died.
“It is useless, da?” He asked the room, not expecting an answer. “I am just a monster to you. Monsters deserve no mercy. I wish I had not spoken- it would have been nice to believe I had allies. To believe even one of you might care. But dreams are for children, and I suppose I am not a child.”
Their faces were shocked and suspicious. No one moved or spoke.
“We will not see each other again.” Once he returned, Stalin would attack him again, and he would no longer be able to stand reality- he would have no choice but to retreat into insanity, no matter what became of his people. “I suppose you will all be glad of that, da? The monster gone from your midst?”
He picked up his bag and turned, walking to the door. He swore to himself he would not cry. That he would not be that weak, would not show them how much the betrayal hurt. His conviction on that was so strong that he was unaware of the fact that he had begun to cry as soon as he spoke.
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“You don't think maybe he-”
“No, it's, like, totally a joke, there's no way-”
“Maybe we shouldn't-”
“The nerve of that guy-”
“He's right about him being a monster, though-”
“Karma sucks, right?”
“Karma was invented in Korea, and this is definitely-”
“Ve, Ludwig, do you think-”
“I mean, who would be strong enough to-”
“It's not like he can't defend himself, he's good at hurting people-”
“Really, it's none of our business-”
More than a dozen conversations clashed and overlapped, filling the room with voices competing to be heard. There was only one exception to the conversation, and no one noticed his silence until Alfred stood, picked up his chair, and threw it against the wall. It splintered and shattered into pieces, stunning everyone in the room, and they all turned to stare at him.
“You're all a bunch of assholes.” He said, glaring at the rest of the assembly. “Every last one of you, and I'm ashamed to admit I know you at all, much less that some of you are my allies. This isn't a joke, and I'd like everyone who's talking about divine justice and karma to shoot themselves in the foot, 'cause Lithuania lost his virginity to me, thank you very fucking much.”
With that, he stalked across the room, shoving aside anyone who didn't get out of the way fast enough and slamming the door behind him.
Alfred found Ivan in an empty meeting hall, curled up in a far corner and sobbing into his scarf. The towering Russian didn't respond to his name being called, or to Alfred squatting next to him, and his reaction to being touched was disheartening- he choked on his sobs, going completely limp, not moving except for a faint tremble running through his body.
But his eyes... his eyes were the worst, and told Alfred all he needed to know. They were wide, glazed over with fear, and unfocused, staring into space, as if what he'd see in reality was just too horrible to force himself to look. Alfred drew back, closing his own eyes until he stopped wanting to break things. Ivan didn't need anger, he needed help.
The rumor had apparently started with Arthur.
Alfred stood regretfully, hesitating a moment, then took off his bomber jacket and draped it over Ivan's shoulders before turning and running out of the room. He returned to the main hall, found Arthur, and grabbed his arm, dragging him off without explanation. No one seemed to want to interfere right now, and Arthur was no match for Alfred's strength- he was dragged down the hall despite all his protesting and fighting, into another room, and shoved at Ivan, almost falling on top of the man.
“Help me get him up.” Alfred ordered flatly, kneeling beside Ivan and touching his shoulder.
Ivan went limp again, whimpering pathetically this time, and Alfred glared up at Arthur.
“Don't just stand there and gape, asshole- help him like you should have yesterday.”
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Alfred was very, very pissed. Not just as his fellow Nations and their high-handed, smugly superior, absolutely inexcusably cruel treatment of Ivan, but also at whoever had brought him to the point where he'd make himself so vulnerable for the sake of getting help.
He dragged a chair next to the bed and made himself comfortable. Those assholes could do whatever the hell they wanted, but even if no one else was going to believe Ivan and help him, Alfred was. Heroes did not let this shit go.
Ivan didn't sleep for long- he was awake after about an hour, his eyes wide and frightened again, but thankfully focused on reality.
“You okay, big guy?” Alfred asked, smiling, and Ivan nodded slowly. “Good. Look, I'd like to apologize on behalf of all those idiots back there.”
Ivan tried to smile, but wound up looking like he was about to cry again. “It is of no moment.” He said. “I should not have expected-”
“Yes, you damned well should have.” Alfred interrupted, his anger bubbling to the surface. “Who the hell are they to cast moral judgment on you? If you're being hurt, especially like this, you deserve to be helped. You deserve to be believed and protected.”
Ivan shook his head, curling up more under the blankets. “No, no, they are right- a monster deserves such punishment. I will be fine.”
“You're going crazy, Ivan. I've seen this happen before, I know what going crazy looks like, and you won't be fine. I bet just one more time will make you snap, won't it?”
Ivan shook his head again, shrinking back when Alfred growled and kicked the bed.
“Who is it? Mr. I'm-the-fucking-United-Kingdom-and-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-about-anyone-else didn't choose to share that with the rest of us.”
Ivan hesitated a long moment, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally whispering, “A Nation cannot harm his people.”
Ivan slept restlessly that night- he dreamed of being pursued through a blizzard by something huge, evil, and unstoppable. He came across people in the midst of the howling wind, but none of them could hear him, and none of them would help him, so he kept running. He could feel the cliff ahead- if he could make it to the cliff, jump from it, the evil chasing him would not be able to follow. Beyond the cliff, he would be safe.
But just before the cliff, a wall loomed out of the snow, massive and high, barring the way to safety. The evil was drawing closer, and he was trapped.
He woke to find his cheeks wet with tears, his pillow soaked with them, and Alfred asleep, slumped in the chair beside the bed. It was warm in the room, and Ivan was still fully dressed, but he shook with the remembered cold of his dream as he sat up, drying his eyes.
He did not want to return to Russia, though he could feel his people calling for him. The evil in his dream had been Stalin, he was sure, and he felt as if there was now a wall between him and the blessing of true insanity that would be his only refuge.
Eventually, with the light of dawn filtering through the flimsy hotel curtains, Ivan drifted off to sleep again.
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Arthur was waiting uncomfortably in the hall, shifting from foot to foot and looking like he'd rather be naked and tied to Francis's bed than here.
“How... how is he?” He asked quietly, not meeting Alfred's eyes.
“As well as can be expected, considering he's been raped by one of his own citizens and you spread that fact around like it's fucking funny.”
Arthur at least had the decency to wince. “It's... not a citizen, Alfred.” He said after a moment, biting his lip. “It's his... his boss.”
Alfred stared at him for a long moment, face blank, before backhanding him into the wall.
“You absolute ass.” He snarled, glaring down at Arthur. “I swear to fucking God, when I'm done with Stalin, I'm coming after you.”
Ivan didn't return to Russia, after all. Not immediately, at least. Instead, he found himself bundled off to Arthur's house, because according to Alfred, “anyone with half a brain would look for you at my place, but no one would expect Arthur to take you in, right?”
And surprisingly, Arthur seemed to believe now. He was awkward, timid, and walked on eggshells around Ivan.
But Ivan was content, because there was no Stalin here to haunt him, and he was warm. He saw no one but Arthur and occasionally Alfred. There was no window and he was not allowed to leave the room, and Arthur's cooking was terrible and tasteless, but Ivan did not mind in the least. He ate the bland meals he was provided, wished they were made as well as the tea he was given to drink, and let time pass without even attempting to keep track of it.
It could have been a year, a century, a month, before Alfred appeared one day and smiled at him.
“You can go home, Ivan.” The blond said. “Stalin croaked. He's dead.”
Ivan stared at him for a long moment, and Alfred met his gaze unwaveringly, his ever fiber radiating sincerity.
“How?” He found the wit to ask.
“The doctors say a stroke.” Alfred said with a wink. “And hey, maybe they're right. Or maybe not.” He took Ivan's hand, pulling him to his feet, and hugged him gently.
“If they are wrong?” Ivan asked, shivering, daring to believe. Humans died. Stalin was not immortal, so he might really be gone. Ivan might truly be free of him.
“Well,” Alfred said, leading him out of the room, hand holding his gently. “A Nation can't harm his people and all, but Stalin sure as hell wasn't one of my people.”
Ivan blinked, then smiled. He felt as though he hadn't smiled in decades. He smiled, and gently squeezed Alfred's hand, surprised and gratified when his fellow Nation squeezed back, tossing a smile of his own over his shoulder.
A Nation cannot harm his people. When it comes to the demons of other Nations, however, they suffer under no such constraints.
It feels so fail, but I know me, and it's probably better than I think it is. Still.
I'm sorry it's a bit of a rush job, but like Trigger!Anon, I'm doing NaNo *thinks he said that already* and that story's a Hetalia fanfic dealing with the aftereffects of rape, among other tortures, so I probably should have waited to fill this, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone.
Hope you guys like it even a little. Maybe it won't seem so fail if I write a sequel... *kills self*
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Your Alfred gets several Crowning Moments of Awesome. Especially the part about Lithuania. While I will admit I felt some parts were rushed, I can't wait to see what you do with this when you de-anon - this feels as though it could be extended into a multi-chaptered story.
But take time with your NaNo, and then come back and play with this a bit, if you feel the need. Well done, Anon, everything considered.
I feel as though you're someone I know on my f-list....
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Yet this is my fifth fill on the kink meme. I'm such a meme-whore. ;-;
*ahem*
Any tips on what can be improved for when I come back to this story? Effusive praise is nice and all, but I like advice better.
what's an f-list?
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When you come back to this, the first thing I'd suggest is writing out more scenes between Arthur and Ivan - particularly when Ivan comes to stay with Arthur. It doesn't even have to be talking - just show us that Arthur is walking on eggshells with Ivan, rather than telling us. And maybe experiment with using flashbacks as well, instead of telling us all about the abuse in the beginning. Reveal what happened in pieces - that will allow you to get to the meeting - and the conflict there - faster.
...I hope that made sense, at least, and that it helps you when the time comes. Good luck!
Ah, never mind, I just thought I knew you from somewhere. An F-list is a friendslist.
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The lack of flashbacks is due to the abundance of them in my NaNo project (poor Alfred ;-; ), and when I'm writing two similar stories at once, they tend to bleed over and I feel like I'm overusing something if I use it in both stories. Hence why I said I should probably have waited to write this.
I wanted more Arthur/Ivan screen time, but it's already almost my bedtime, and I wanted to be done tonight. This is why, at least in my eyes, this fill is sort of fail. -3-
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*hands you tissues*
I am glad you liked it, but this is definitely a fill I'll be revisiting come December.
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