Jacob I Have Loved (2C)
anonymous
May 22 2010, 23:57:12 UTC
Kaliningrad clenched his eyes shut and rocked back and forth, GDR pressed against his chest, crying into her sparse hair. He cried openly, unashamedly, until his face was red and his voice ragged. Germany sat on the edge of the bed for a long time until Kaliningrad's sobs quieted to whimpers, and then he reached over and gently pulled the boy's hands away from his sister's limp body.
Kaliningrad watched with miserable, bloodshot eyes as Germany lifted her and held her for several long moments, staring into the beautiful, cold face of Prussia's dead daughter. Her eyes stared out at him, fringed with white lashes. She weighed no more in his arms than a broken doll.
Kaliningrad swallowed, and said, "S-she shouldn't have died like this. She wanted to die on her feet. In battle."
Germany looked into those red eyes one last time before brushing his fingertips over her eyelids and shutting them forever.
They buried her the next day, on a hill. Afterward, Kaliningrad lingered over her tombstone, tracing her name with his fingers. Germany walked up behind him and paused, hands clasped behind his back. "Does it ever get any better?" Kaliningrad asked. "Losing your sibling forever?"
"I haven't found out yet myself," Germany admitted. He rested his hands on his nephew's shoulders.
Kaliningrad turned to look up to him. "There's one thing left that I have to do," he said. "Then I'm going to see Lithuania. I want to tell you -- thank you. For taking us in when you did. So that she would have a place to die."
Germany choked down the lump in his throat. "It was my honor to care for my brother's children. He -- I think he would've been proud of both of you.
Kaliningrad looked at the ground. "GDR was meant to be the next Prussia. I'm too Russian to ever take his place."
"There was only one Prussia," Germany told him gently. "She was GDR and you are Kaliningrad. You have a place in this world."
"Yes," Kaliningrad said, but he had a faraway look in his eyes as though he did not see Germany, or even the hill where his sister was buried, but some place else entirely. "I do."
Jacob I Have Loved (3C)
anonymous
June 10 2010, 07:11:55 UTC
Kaliningrad awoke early the next morning and dressed to leave. He went downstairs to find Germany sitting at his kitchen table, a cup of black coffee in his hand.
"Leaving already?" Germany asked.
"I have a long way to go," Kaliningrad said, buttoning up his coat. He looked out the window, where the first rays of dawn were turning the sky yellow and gray. He had miles to go, and he had to walk them alone.
Germany pushed his chair back from the table and stood stiffly. Kaliningrad could see the dark circles under his eyes, and realized that Germany hadn't slept all night; he must've stayed up, waiting for his nephew. Germany stood in front of him, and reached into his front pocket.
"I was saving this for Prussia's return," he admitted. "There was a time when this meant the world to him. I considered burying it with your sister, but now... I would like you to have it." He took Kaliningrad's hand and pressed something small and metal to his palm, then closed his fingers around it. Kaliningrad stared wonderingly into his uncle's face for a moment, then looked down and opened his hand to reveal a medal. An Iron Cross.
"It's the first one ever made," Germany told him. "Given to Prussians who fought valiantly against Napoleon."
Kaliningrad stared at Prussia's Iron Cross for several long moments, drawing shaky breaths, then said reverently, "I will treasure this all my days."
Germany helped him pin it to the inside of his coat, then walked him out the door and waved him off. They didn't say any goodbyes; they both felt certain they would meet again.
The going was hard, and Kaliningrad concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to keep his mind blank. Every so often, an image would come to mind, of GDR as she was before she died, or a memory of Lithuania's gentle hands, and his face would contort, and he would have to sit by the side of the road and wipe hot tears from his cheeks before he could go on. Several times he had to open his coat and look at the Iron Cross, to reassure himself that it was real, and really his.
He came upon Russia's house to find the door swinging open, creaking to and fro with the wind. Kaliningrad peered into the gloom hesitantly, then took one step inside, and then another. Russia's house was empty, empty, empty. He might've thought it was abandoned if he didn't know Russia as well as he did. Even his sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, had gone. The Baltics had long since left, taking everything that belonged to them and leaving everything that belonged to Russia.
The kitchen cupboards were bare.
Russia's office was unlocked, and strewn with crumpled bits of papers and newspapers with panicky headlines in Cyrillic.
Nowhere did a soul breathe save for Kaliningrad himself. Finally, steeling himself, he began to climb the stairs towards the room Russia had shared with GDR.
The door's rusty hinge squeaked as he pushed it open. Kaliningrad's jaw fell open as he took in the sight of the once-immaculate bedchambers. Bookshelves were overturned, and torn pages lay in sad heaps on the floor. GDR's beautiful wooden bed had been smashed nearly into kindling. The velvet curtain that had shrouded Prussia's portrait was in tatters, and the portrait itself was shredded, as though Russia had attacked it with his fingernails.
The door slammed behind him, and Kaliningrad nearly leapt out of his shoes in fright.
Re: Jacob I Have Loved (3C)
anonymous
June 11 2010, 18:57:00 UTC
First time commenting, though I've been reading this for quite some time. I just wanted to tell you that I love your story and the way you make the people in it sound so real, even those who only get hinted at, like Hungary and the baltics other than Lithuania, and your amazing OCs. Special love for your Poland, of course, because he is bamf and so would climb through Lithuanias window when Russia isn't looking. Prussia's short appearance was heartbreaking and I hope to hear a bit more about him in the confrontation between Ivan and Kaliningrad but the best for me is your Russia, who is lonely and mad and does these terrible things all the time but somehow you still feel sympathy for him. I'm really queasy about mpreg, though I think hermaphroditism makes a lot of sense for nations who represent half a female population after all, so I nearly didn't read your story. Now I'm glad I gave it a try. Thank you for writing this!
Jacob I Have Loved (1D)
anonymous
June 19 2010, 05:35:16 UTC
"Hello, Russia," Kaliningrad said in a low voice.
Russia put one heavy boot in front of the other, and instinctively Kaliningrad stepped back, until his back was against the wall and there was nowhere to go. Russia loomed over him and said through clenched teeth, "There is nothing here for you. There never was." His breath smelled strongly of vodka.
Kaliningrad cleared his throat softly, and held up the envelope with 'Nana' written across it. Russia stared at it, uncomprehending. "She asked me to give this to you," Kaliningrad told him. "It was her last request."
Russia snatched it from Kaliningrad's hands, but he did not tear into it, not then. He clutched the envelope to his chest, his paws crumping the paper. Over Russia's shoulder, Kaliningrad could see Prussia's tattered portrait staring at him, as though beseeching him to be careful.
"We buried her in Berlin, under the name Anya Beilschmidt," Kaliningrad whispered. Russia looked up at him with wild eyes, his pupils shrunk to little pinpricks. "If you wish to come visit her, I will tell you how. She would've wanted you to come."
Russia snarled at him, and Kaliningrad braced himself for a blow that did not come. He hated himself a little for flinching before Russia; he did not want to look weak to his father. But Russia's snarl turned into a rasping, mocking laugh. "Such a good brother, faithful like a dog," he said. "There is nothing of Prussia in you. Did you know he died cursing you? Did Lithuania tell you that?" His taunts were childishly cruel, his drunkenness making him wild. "He died cursing you for killing him."
Kaliningrad looked into Russia's face and saw the brittleness in him, the endless cold and the desperation slowly soured into sadism. He wondered if Russia had perhaps in his own way loved Prussia, wondered if he mourned him still. Do you blame me for killing him? Kaliningrad wanted to ask him. Or do you blame yourself? And then there was Lithuania, who could love a little boy with Russia's eyes but not Russia himself.
Kaliningrad laid his hands over his heart, closed his eyes and said, "I have been loved from the moment of my birth."
After a moment he opened his eyes to see Russia shatter. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, holding GDR's letter like a shield. Russia crumpled in on himself, shaking with barely silenced sobs, like a man who's life work was a house of cards that toppled over in moments.
Kaliningrad stepped around him and left the room. He did not feel he was wanted there. Instead, he went down the corridor to his old room, the room he had shared with Lithuania since he was minutes old. Unlike the rest of the house, it was untouched by Russia's rampage. Lithuania had left the bed neatly made, and the dresser held nothing but the work clothing Russia had made him wear. Even Kaliningrad's few toys from his childhood were gone, carefully packed in a suitcase and taken far, far away. Kaliningrad took one last lingering look at the little room with its four walls, before shutting the door and locking it behind him as he left.
Russia blocked the hallway. Kaliningrad watched him as he approached, slowly, almost hesitantly, as though afraid Kaliningrad would flinch away from him. When they were an arm's length apart, Russia reached into his coat and produced a small book. "Take it," he said gruffly. His skin was deathly pale and his eyes were red-rimmed and bleak. "She wanted you to have this."
Kaliningrad took the book from him. Turning it over, he found the cover to be the familiar "Treasure Island" book GDR had given him all these years before, carefully preserved and treasured. He traced the embossed letters on the cover with his fingertips as he said, "Thank you."
Jacob I Have Loved (2D) (finale)
anonymous
June 19 2010, 05:46:51 UTC
"How did she die?" Russia asked in a hush. He would not meet Kaliningrad's eyes.
"With her eyes open," Kaliningrad told him. "Unafraid. Facing death like a soldier."
Russia went downstairs first, followed by Kaliningrad. He watched as Russia sat at the kitchen table, laid a crumpled letter beside him, and laid his head in his arms. Kaliningrad walked past him, GDR's book in hand, and peered at the letter, wanting to see his sister's final words to their father.
In the shaky, giant lettering of a dying girl was written one sentence, DO IT FOR ME.
Kaliningrad sobbed aloud, balling a fist into his mouth to muffle the sound. The thought that -- GDR in her last days had -- begged their father to -- come to some reconciliation with him -- hot tears spilled from his eyes, and he ran from the house, ran out the still open front door, ran and ran and left Russia behind, ran until his lungs burned and he could scream out his pain to the night's sky.
There could be centuries, millenia left for Kaliningrad. His sister had had a few scant months.
He trudged the rest of the way to Lithuania's house. He was on it almost without noticing, and when he knocked on the door it was wrenched open instantly. "Oh, God," Lithuania moaned when he saw Kaliningrad. "Oh, Fricu."
Kaliningrad collapsed into his arms, even as Poland shouted behind them, "Omigod!"
His fate would be forever tied to the two fathers he had never known -- one taken by death, one by madness. But, perhaps, there could be dignity in this life, and healing, and even joy. His sister would've wanted it.
Kaliningrad watched with miserable, bloodshot eyes as Germany lifted her and held her for several long moments, staring into the beautiful, cold face of Prussia's dead daughter. Her eyes stared out at him, fringed with white lashes. She weighed no more in his arms than a broken doll.
Kaliningrad swallowed, and said, "S-she shouldn't have died like this. She wanted to die on her feet. In battle."
Germany looked into those red eyes one last time before brushing his fingertips over her eyelids and shutting them forever.
They buried her the next day, on a hill. Afterward, Kaliningrad lingered over her tombstone, tracing her name with his fingers. Germany walked up behind him and paused, hands clasped behind his back. "Does it ever get any better?" Kaliningrad asked. "Losing your sibling forever?"
"I haven't found out yet myself," Germany admitted. He rested his hands on his nephew's shoulders.
Kaliningrad turned to look up to him. "There's one thing left that I have to do," he said. "Then I'm going to see Lithuania. I want to tell you -- thank you. For taking us in when you did. So that she would have a place to die."
Germany choked down the lump in his throat. "It was my honor to care for my brother's children. He -- I think he would've been proud of both of you.
Kaliningrad looked at the ground. "GDR was meant to be the next Prussia. I'm too Russian to ever take his place."
"There was only one Prussia," Germany told him gently. "She was GDR and you are Kaliningrad. You have a place in this world."
"Yes," Kaliningrad said, but he had a faraway look in his eyes as though he did not see Germany, or even the hill where his sister was buried, but some place else entirely. "I do."
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OMG OMG OMG, I really luv and feel so lucky for this. ><
GDR dying scene is nice and I really want to see what will happened next. My mind tell me something stated in initial prompt will happened...:x;
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"Leaving already?" Germany asked.
"I have a long way to go," Kaliningrad said, buttoning up his coat. He looked out the window, where the first rays of dawn were turning the sky yellow and gray. He had miles to go, and he had to walk them alone.
Germany pushed his chair back from the table and stood stiffly. Kaliningrad could see the dark circles under his eyes, and realized that Germany hadn't slept all night; he must've stayed up, waiting for his nephew. Germany stood in front of him, and reached into his front pocket.
"I was saving this for Prussia's return," he admitted. "There was a time when this meant the world to him. I considered burying it with your sister, but now... I would like you to have it." He took Kaliningrad's hand and pressed something small and metal to his palm, then closed his fingers around it. Kaliningrad stared wonderingly into his uncle's face for a moment, then looked down and opened his hand to reveal a medal. An Iron Cross.
"It's the first one ever made," Germany told him. "Given to Prussians who fought valiantly against Napoleon."
Kaliningrad stared at Prussia's Iron Cross for several long moments, drawing shaky breaths, then said reverently, "I will treasure this all my days."
Germany helped him pin it to the inside of his coat, then walked him out the door and waved him off. They didn't say any goodbyes; they both felt certain they would meet again.
The going was hard, and Kaliningrad concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to keep his mind blank. Every so often, an image would come to mind, of GDR as she was before she died, or a memory of Lithuania's gentle hands, and his face would contort, and he would have to sit by the side of the road and wipe hot tears from his cheeks before he could go on. Several times he had to open his coat and look at the Iron Cross, to reassure himself that it was real, and really his.
He came upon Russia's house to find the door swinging open, creaking to and fro with the wind. Kaliningrad peered into the gloom hesitantly, then took one step inside, and then another. Russia's house was empty, empty, empty. He might've thought it was abandoned if he didn't know Russia as well as he did. Even his sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, had gone. The Baltics had long since left, taking everything that belonged to them and leaving everything that belonged to Russia.
The kitchen cupboards were bare.
Russia's office was unlocked, and strewn with crumpled bits of papers and newspapers with panicky headlines in Cyrillic.
Nowhere did a soul breathe save for Kaliningrad himself. Finally, steeling himself, he began to climb the stairs towards the room Russia had shared with GDR.
The door's rusty hinge squeaked as he pushed it open. Kaliningrad's jaw fell open as he took in the sight of the once-immaculate bedchambers. Bookshelves were overturned, and torn pages lay in sad heaps on the floor. GDR's beautiful wooden bed had been smashed nearly into kindling. The velvet curtain that had shrouded Prussia's portrait was in tatters, and the portrait itself was shredded, as though Russia had attacked it with his fingernails.
The door slammed behind him, and Kaliningrad nearly leapt out of his shoes in fright.
"So you came back," slurred Russia.
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This is so amazing, I can't wait for the next bit
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Special love for your Poland, of course, because he is bamf and so would climb through Lithuanias window when Russia isn't looking.
Prussia's short appearance was heartbreaking and I hope to hear a bit more about him in the confrontation between Ivan and Kaliningrad but the best for me is your Russia, who is lonely and mad and does these terrible things all the time but somehow you still feel sympathy for him.
I'm really queasy about mpreg, though I think hermaphroditism makes a lot of sense for nations who represent half a female population after all, so I nearly didn't read your story. Now I'm glad I gave it a try.
Thank you for writing this!
Reply
Russia put one heavy boot in front of the other, and instinctively Kaliningrad stepped back, until his back was against the wall and there was nowhere to go. Russia loomed over him and said through clenched teeth, "There is nothing here for you. There never was." His breath smelled strongly of vodka.
Kaliningrad cleared his throat softly, and held up the envelope with 'Nana' written across it. Russia stared at it, uncomprehending. "She asked me to give this to you," Kaliningrad told him. "It was her last request."
Russia snatched it from Kaliningrad's hands, but he did not tear into it, not then. He clutched the envelope to his chest, his paws crumping the paper. Over Russia's shoulder, Kaliningrad could see Prussia's tattered portrait staring at him, as though beseeching him to be careful.
"We buried her in Berlin, under the name Anya Beilschmidt," Kaliningrad whispered. Russia looked up at him with wild eyes, his pupils shrunk to little pinpricks. "If you wish to come visit her, I will tell you how. She would've wanted you to come."
Russia snarled at him, and Kaliningrad braced himself for a blow that did not come. He hated himself a little for flinching before Russia; he did not want to look weak to his father. But Russia's snarl turned into a rasping, mocking laugh. "Such a good brother, faithful like a dog," he said. "There is nothing of Prussia in you. Did you know he died cursing you? Did Lithuania tell you that?" His taunts were childishly cruel, his drunkenness making him wild. "He died cursing you for killing him."
Kaliningrad looked into Russia's face and saw the brittleness in him, the endless cold and the desperation slowly soured into sadism. He wondered if Russia had perhaps in his own way loved Prussia, wondered if he mourned him still. Do you blame me for killing him? Kaliningrad wanted to ask him. Or do you blame yourself? And then there was Lithuania, who could love a little boy with Russia's eyes but not Russia himself.
Kaliningrad laid his hands over his heart, closed his eyes and said, "I have been loved from the moment of my birth."
After a moment he opened his eyes to see Russia shatter. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, holding GDR's letter like a shield. Russia crumpled in on himself, shaking with barely silenced sobs, like a man who's life work was a house of cards that toppled over in moments.
Kaliningrad stepped around him and left the room. He did not feel he was wanted there. Instead, he went down the corridor to his old room, the room he had shared with Lithuania since he was minutes old. Unlike the rest of the house, it was untouched by Russia's rampage. Lithuania had left the bed neatly made, and the dresser held nothing but the work clothing Russia had made him wear. Even Kaliningrad's few toys from his childhood were gone, carefully packed in a suitcase and taken far, far away. Kaliningrad took one last lingering look at the little room with its four walls, before shutting the door and locking it behind him as he left.
Russia blocked the hallway. Kaliningrad watched him as he approached, slowly, almost hesitantly, as though afraid Kaliningrad would flinch away from him. When they were an arm's length apart, Russia reached into his coat and produced a small book. "Take it," he said gruffly. His skin was deathly pale and his eyes were red-rimmed and bleak. "She wanted you to have this."
Kaliningrad took the book from him. Turning it over, he found the cover to be the familiar "Treasure Island" book GDR had given him all these years before, carefully preserved and treasured. He traced the embossed letters on the cover with his fingertips as he said, "Thank you."
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"With her eyes open," Kaliningrad told him. "Unafraid. Facing death like a soldier."
Russia went downstairs first, followed by Kaliningrad. He watched as Russia sat at the kitchen table, laid a crumpled letter beside him, and laid his head in his arms. Kaliningrad walked past him, GDR's book in hand, and peered at the letter, wanting to see his sister's final words to their father.
In the shaky, giant lettering of a dying girl was written one sentence, DO IT FOR ME.
Kaliningrad sobbed aloud, balling a fist into his mouth to muffle the sound. The thought that -- GDR in her last days had -- begged their father to -- come to some reconciliation with him -- hot tears spilled from his eyes, and he ran from the house, ran out the still open front door, ran and ran and left Russia behind, ran until his lungs burned and he could scream out his pain to the night's sky.
There could be centuries, millenia left for Kaliningrad. His sister had had a few scant months.
He trudged the rest of the way to Lithuania's house. He was on it almost without noticing, and when he knocked on the door it was wrenched open instantly. "Oh, God," Lithuania moaned when he saw Kaliningrad. "Oh, Fricu."
Kaliningrad collapsed into his arms, even as Poland shouted behind them, "Omigod!"
His fate would be forever tied to the two fathers he had never known -- one taken by death, one by madness. But, perhaps, there could be dignity in this life, and healing, and even joy. His sister would've wanted it.
They all deserved it.
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Poor Kaliningrad…poor GDR
thank anon, this was beautiful
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*Sniff, sniff...*
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