Hetalia Kink meme part 9 -- CLOSED
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hetalia kink meme
part 9
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( Christmas Reveals )
He's standing in line trying to buy apples when it starts, and there's a haze drifting across his vision and an ache in all his bones. He's used to it now. He stalks the streets, he no longer sleeps, because the knowledge of the New Union Treaty hangs on his chest and he does not know if he will still be there, if he will melt into snowflakes or ash, if the Union of Soveirgn States will go on walking the earth when he is not the Soviet Union anymore. His people cast concerned looks at him, his shadowed eyes and the long coat he wears even in August.
He smiles for them anyway. Maybe he will fade away and leave nothing but the smile. England had a book like that. He hasn't spoken to England in a long time.
There's no radio in the shop but the Soviet Union hears the radio, stumbles outdoors into the light. There will be time for hysterics later. His Marakov rests against the hollow of his hip and his skull feels like it's splitting in two.
He wants to be anywhere else. Kiev flickers candle-bright in his conciousness. He is in Siberia shivering in poor prison garmets, he is in Leningrad weeping at Catherine's grave, looking up to the cathedral roof and wishing he could still believe. He cannot find himself in Vilnius anymore, if he ever could. It aches like a phantom limb.
At Gorbachev's dacha the phone lines are cut. The guards turn him away. Someone says that Gorbachev is dead, and he shudders. Lies, all lies. He would know. He would feel it.
Wouldn't he?
The streets of Moscow are quiet, and his people hurry about, not meeting each other's eyes. The Soviet Union stalks through them, scarf fluttering, and his footfalls make no sound.
Nothing really happens at first; it's just that the random motion of people out walking brings more and more of them toward Red Square. There are people out for walks, people running for the train - and the trains are still running - people sitting on park benches watching the passerby. Someone is handing out leaflets. Russia takes one; there's a crowd gathering around the newsstand and so he lets it slip from his fingers as he walks away, watches it flutter across the pavement until a young man with messy brown hair snaps it up. Falling leaves, for the Autumn of Nations. Someone must have thought he looked hungry, because he finds himself with a pastry shoved into his hand that he does not recall buying. He nibbles on it as he walks, and the sugar calms him a little, takes the edge from his headache. The last quarter goes to a little boy watching his three older brothers construct a barricade. Not an impentrable barricade, but it's just for vehicles, they tell him, just to keep the Army quiet. The Soviet Union is an expert dissembler; he smiles, and goes on his way. They all think he agreed with them. Even the soliders are murmuring, he can hear it, they don't think this is working.
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