Canada almost protested the “little,” but decided otherwise. He didn't want to antagonize the other nation over a single word. He sips at the alcohol in his cup and listens as Russia continues.
“I know what it is like to be lonely,” the man mourns as he downs another glass of vodka. “It is hard, not having a friend. I have watched you, you know.”
Canada frowns, he hadn't known. Suspicion began to form in his gut. “Why?”
“You always look so sad, sitting there, all alone with an animal that can't even remember your name. It made me want to help you,” Russia lifts a hand, almost as if to pat Canada on the head, before he pulls it back quickly. “I thought you would not mind escaping the world.”
The suspicion deepens, but Canada smiles wistfully, “It would be nice to get away from it all. . .” suddenly he feels very tired, yawning deeply, “. . . just for a while.”
“I'm glad you agree.” Russia sets his glass on the table, smiling deeply. “It will all be better in the end.”
The room is spinning, as Canada tries to stand, his mind screaming at him. It was a trap. And he had fallen right into it. “Ru- ssia. . .”
That was the last he knew before he had woken up, chained to the wall of a small, cold room with a single bucket for use as a toilet; clad only in a thin t-shirt and shorts that might as well have been made of paper for all the good they did.
Xx
Canada can't quite remember why he had gone with Russia that fateful day, but somehow it didn't seem to matter anymore. All that mattered was that he had followed the larger nation; so glad to have been noticed for once that he never question why the hostile, violent man was being so friendly.
Tugging with frozen fingers at the chain holding him down, Canada wishes he had wondered, wishes he could go back and warn himself to run, to get away before it was too late. He can't, though, and so he must find another way to escape this hell.
“You can't escape,” Russia's voice comes out of the darkness, almost angry in its harshness. And yet, a small part of Canada wants to cheer at not being alone in the dark anymore. “Why do you keep trying, little dog?”
“I'm not your dog!” Canada shouts in a hoarse voice before he remembers the rules. Stiffening, he looks to the door with wide eyes. He almost wants to apologize, but knows that speaking further will only make it worse, and he refuses to whine like an animal.
“You wanted this. I am only helping you, little dog. You will be grateful when it is over.”
Words bubble to the surface; words filled with anger and hatred and vehement disagreement; but Canada holds them in. Dogs are not supposed to speak. Instead he lets go of the chain, rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to return some semblance of warmth to his fingertips.
There is a long moment of silence, and then the kennel door opens, letting in some small light that has Canada blinking for a moment, and Russia enters, stooping over to fit his large frame through the small opening. “I have tried to be nice, little dog, but you do not listen. So I must teach you a lesson.”
Canada knows what the man sees as “lessons” and a chill goes down his spine, even as he wonders what he had done to need another lesson. He had eaten the food Russia had brought him that morning. He had not spoken a word until today's slip-up. What was he to be punished for this time?
He does not expect to see what appear to be long gloves in Russia's hand, and the moment of confusion is all it takes for the man to latch on to his collar.
“You have been tugging at that chain for days. Your hands must be so cold; don't you know it is not good for little dogs to be pulling at their chains like that?” Russia clicks his tongue several times with an almost disappointed air. “I can't let you be hurting yourself. Hold out your hand.”
Eyes still wary, Canada lifts his right arm hesitantly. Gloves are nearly as good as blankets, but that can't be all they are. Not as a punishment.
Unconditional - Part 1b/?
anonymous
March 1 2011, 12:15:09 UTC
The first glove is pulled up his arm, and he almost melts at the warmth. It very nearly reaches the ends of his thin shirt's short sleeves, protecting the whole of his arm. And then Russia tugs at his fingers, folding the mitten-like end around them until his hand is locked in a closed fist.
“There will be no more tugging on chains,” Russia states matter-of-factly as he reaches for Canada's left arm.
It is humiliating, having his hands made as useless as a dog's paw, but he doesn't fight as the second glove is drawn up onto his left arm. They are warm, regardless of their purpose, and Canada has learned not to fight pointless battles.
“You will be a good dog now. I do not like having to keep you in here.”
“Then why do you!?” Canada wants to shout. “Why do you lock me up like an animal, treat me like a pet that won't behave?!” He knows it is futile; Russia won't listen and it would only make things harder on himself.
He must have let something slip in his expression though, because Russia frowns and ruffles his hair. “It will be all be good. You will see.”
And then he leaves, and Canada is left alone in the dark once more. Curling up into a ball to conserve body heat, Canada whimpers softly, almost too soft to hear. Russia might keep him in this cold, dark cage until he has lost himself completely; and it is that, the thought of becoming one of the others - the ones who don't even know Canada exists - that scares him the most.
After all, who will remember the forgotten, if not themselves?
--- Did I do everything right? I've never posted on LJ before, much less to the Kink Meme, and I'm a bit nervous.
Re: Unconditional - Part 1b/?
anonymous
March 1 2011, 17:28:40 UTC
This is awesome anon!! I'm loving it so far!
You've got their characterizations spot on, and Canada's fear and rebellion is so wonderful and palpable. I'm loving your type of Russian crazy, as well.
Please continue! I'm really looking forward to seeing more!
Unconditional - Part 2a/?
anonymous
March 2 2011, 06:51:23 UTC
The cold was the first thing Canada noticed. The collar was the second. A thick band of sturdy leather, it rested snugly around his neck, just loose enough that he could move his head without undue pressure. There was no way to remove it, at least for him. The latch was at the back, solid metal with a small keyhole in the center. That was also where the chain was attached, hooked around the collar itself.
As soon as it sank in that he was chained and collared like an animal, Canada tried to stand, determined to break his way out of the cold room. The collar choked him before he was off his knees. He fell to the floor, his hands reaching to sooth the pain in his neck as he gasped for air. The chain was only about four feet long, attached to the wall just above the floor. Long enough to lay down, even sit up or move around a little, but not to stand.
He began to shout, calling for Russia, for anyone, to let him out. With time, his shouts became more hysterical, full of hidden fear and anger. What if Russia had forgotten him completely? The thought brought new life to his cries, until the darkness and the loneliness overcame him and he broke down into tears.
Xx
When Russia returns the next morning - or at least, Canada assumes it's morning - he does not bring the daily meal. Instead, he carries two large buckets that splash as he sets them down inside the door.
“You were not a good dog yesterday, so I cannot put you outside while I wash the floor.”
Canada blushes - with his hands bound as they are, he had not been able to use the bucket - even as his eyes widen with horror. It is cold enough without water, the thought of how much worse it will be if he's wet has him trying to hide in the farthest corner. The chain won't stretch that far though, and he is still tugging at it when Russia upends the first bucket, sending its contents across the small room.
The water hits him like an electric shock, and Canada is sure that his skin has turned blue as he shivers violently in the chilly air. The second bucket is just as bad, soaking what little managed to escape the first and sending him to the floor, shaking so hard his teeth bang together. His clothes are soaked, even the warm gloves, and there is nothing he can do but lay there and wish for it to all go away.
“You will be a good dog?”
Canada nods, but it is lost in another violent wave of shaking. What little pride he has left shatters as Canada whines, doing his best to sound like Finland's little dog when she wants to be petted.
It must have been acceptable, because Russia steps closer, sitting down next to Canada's frozen body and pulling the smaller boy close. “You will not misbehave again.”
Tears and snot mingling on his face, Canada nods, whimpering pitifully as he leans into Russia's warmth. Russia pats his head lovingly, before running a large hand down across Canada's cheek, “Good little dog.”
Then he stands, taking the warmth as he walks away. Canada is so cold, so afraid of being alone, so scared that Russia is just going to leave him like this, cold and wet, that he acts without thinking. He barks anxiously, rising to his knees and tugging at the collar as he tries to capture Russia's coat in his gloved hands. Anything to keep Russia from leaving. He is still shaking though, and Russia has not even made it out of the door before Canada is back on the floor, trembling as he tries to find some warmth in his wet clothes.
He barely notices as Russia returns, barely hears the whispered chastisement when he doesn't move but to tremble and shake. The cold has reached his bones, and it feels as though any movement would shatter them.
“I am sorry, Matvey. . .” Warmth brushes through his hair and envelopes his damp skin, and Canada's shivers lessen somewhat as he drinks it in. It is then that he fades out, not hearing more than a low rumble as Russia continues to speak.
Oh my god, I check the Hetalia Kink Meme for the first time in ages, and find this ancient request being filled? Words cannot express the awesomeness I felt.
Your writing style and descriptions are very good, and I'm really enjoying this so far! I can't wait for the next part +____+ You are doing a wonderful job, authoranon!
Unconditional - Part 3/?
anonymous
March 3 2011, 05:14:23 UTC
Thanks go to reviewer!anons. This may end up being the first full-length fic I ever finish, so I hope it continues to be up to standard, and I appreciate all comments, though I will probably not respond unless it is necessary. Just know I love you!
Canada laid on the floor, his throat dry and his stomach growling. He had no way to know how much time had passed since he had been brought here, no way to know how long he had been screaming like a madman. All he knew was that no one had come.
And then the door opened, and light spilled into the room, revealing it to be more of an over-sized crate with a single brick wall than an actual room. The light burned at first, so Canada ducked his head away, covering his eyes with his fingers.
“You have been shouting so angrily, little dog. Can you not realize I only want to help you.” The voice was like music to his ears, a sign that he will not die chained to a wall, alone and forgotten in the dark. And then he recognized it, and remembered.
Russia.
Fueled by anger, Canada's strength returned somewhat. Enough to lash out with a fist as the man leaned over to check on his new project. Russia caught the blow in his hand, dropping what he had been holding. The bowl of water hit the floor and splashed.
“Look what you have done, you naughty dog.” Russia knelt down next to him. “I will not bring more water until tomorrow. That is all you get.”
“But. . .”
A hand covered Canada's mouth. “Dogs do not speak. You must learn to behave properly or you will be punished. Now drink.” The hand was removed, and Canada's head was shoved downwards, toward the puddle on the floor. He struggled, but Russia's grip was unyielding. “You must drink so that you do not get sick.”
Canada stuck out his tongue, knowing that he did need water. His face was red, his heart pounding angrily as he slowly lapped up the spilled water, cool and refreshing to his dry throat despite its origins.
What did Russia get out of treating him like this?
Xx
It is warm when Canada wakes, a flickering fire dancing just out of reach. There is a blanket beneath him, thick and heavy and warm. Though the chill lingers inside of him, the warmth is slowly replacing it, and he wants nothing more than to lie there and bask in it.
“Are you better?”
Canada blinks weary eyes upward, too tired to lift his head properly. Russia is staring down at him, towering over him like a giant with concern in his eyes.
“I didn't mean to hurt you,” Russia says, and Canada almost believes it. “And you were good, so I brought you inside. I do not want to take you back outside, but if you misbehave, I will have no choice.”
Canada looks around, surprised to find that he is in a large kitchen. He is still chained, but the chain is longer - possibly long enough to move around the room with ease - and attached to a bolt built into the fireplace bricks. Frowning, he rolls over to warm his other side; he will decide what to do once he is no longer too exhausted to think.
The sudden weight on Canada's head sometime later is enough to startle him into a state of pseudo-consciousness, but not enough to make him move. His eyes open a slit, revealing Russia, sitting with his back to the hearth and his legs stretched out in front of him. It is his hand that rests atop Canada's hair, fingers moving slowly as if to massage his scalp.
“Why do you fight me, little Matvey? Do you truly hate me so much?” Russia's voice is quiet, barely audible in the crackling of wood burning in the fireplace. He is not truly speaking to Canada, his eyes staring blankly into the distance. “You and I are so alike, but you are clean, fresh snow and I. . . I am. . .” there is a long pause, before he shakes his head. “I am not.”
Canada frowns, fighting to stay awake and hear more as the darkness drags him back under to the soft rhythm of fingers dancing in his hair and the scent of burning pine. He dreams of happiness, and laughter, and smiling violet eyes; only to remember nothing in the morning.
I would like to know, what do you think of the format (past/present/...)? Does it throw you off, or does it work?
In terms of tense, this fanfiction has actually really surprised me. Normally I've insisted on past tense in fanfiction, and felt upset when fanfiction had present tense, but the entire time it's worked perfectly for this story and your writing style. I basically forget its even in a tense that I dislike.
Lmao, in short this fanfiction is making me rethink my really stupid stance on tense. You're doing a great job!
Oh, and just to let you know, I am obessively checking this a next update. I love this <3
Re: Unconditional - Part 3/?
anonymous
March 3 2011, 16:22:24 UTC
I love what you're doing with the past/present tense. The contrast you're able to show is beautiful, and it's not like you're switching tenses as an accident; it's a conscious stylistic choice, and one the readers are enjoying.
I'm in love with this fill! I'm so happy you decided to take it up! Good luck with writing the next part! ♥
Unconditional - Part 4a/?
anonymous
March 4 2011, 02:28:11 UTC
Thanks to reviewer!anons!! I don't actually like present tense myself, but this story sort of wrote itself, so by the time I realized that it was in present tense, it was easier to just continue, rather than go back and try and change it all to past.(Trust me, I tried - not fun.) I'm glad it turned out okay. To OP!anon, I probably won't update more than once a day, but I should be able to update every day for a while. But feel free to be as obsessive as you want. :)
When Russia returned, Canada had done nothing but pull at the chain holding him to the wall. It was the only real obstacle to his escape at this point, at least that he could see.
“Stop that.”
Canada stiffened, dropping the chain as he turned to face Russia.
“You will eat.” A bowl is set on the floor in front of him, filled with what appeared to be some sort of brown mush. It didn't smell quite as bad as England's cooking, but there is nothing that could entice Canada to eat it. The hunger wasn't so bad anymore, and he would rather starve.
He pushed the bowl away with a grimace.
“Do you really wish to starve?” Russia's voice was almost pleading. “I only want to help you, but I cannot do that if you refuse to cooperate.”
“Maybe I don't want to be helped!” Canada shouted, his eyes blazing. “Maybe I just want to go home!” If he could, he would be on his feet, and he imagined leaping at the Russian bastard, biting and clawing like the animal he was told to be, like the untamed Northern nation he had once been. But he was chained, and so it had to be enough to shout.
“Dogs. Do. Not. Speak.” Russia was truly angry, and Canada cowered under his rage. “How do you ever expect this to work if you do not behave?”
“I-” The look in Russia's eyes was enough to cut the protest off before it even began.
“One more word, and there will be consequences. Now, you will eat,” Russia kicked the bowl forward, “or I will have to make you eat.”
Glaring angrily, Canada reached a hand for the bowl. Only to find his arm trapped under Russia's foot. “Eat it properly.”
Properly? Russia removed his foot and nudged the bowl closer. Oh, “proper” for a dog. Hissing angrily under his breath, Canada crouched lower, ducking his head towards the unappetizing mush. Then he moved, grabbing the bowl and throwing it into Russia's face before the man could react.
The mush was not as solid as it had looked, and it dripped down Russia's face and onto his shirt and the floor as the bowl hit the ground with a ringing clatter. Canada grinned almost savagely at Russia's bewildered look. The look quickly changed to anger, and Russia stalked out with a final, “You will not like it so much when I force the food down your throat,” that wiped the smirk from Canada's face.
Unconditional - Part 4b/?
anonymous
March 4 2011, 02:30:31 UTC
The sunlight shines through thin drapes, illuminating the room. Canada wakes, and the sight - of light, of the sun, of anything outside of that tiny box of a room - nearly has him singing with happiness. Standing on shaky legs, he frowns to see that his clothing is clean and dry - gloves and all - but he doesn't dwell on it, and as he gets his balance back, he walks over to the window.
The curtains are pulled apart to reveal a winter wonderland, snow covering everything the eye can see, though there is little but land and a small building that Canada assumes is his kennel in sight. He shivers at the thought of being sent back - all alone in the cold and the dark - and vows to do everything in his power to keep Russia happy.
“Bad dog!!”
The angry shout has Canada jumping away from the window with a start. Was he not supposed to look outside? With only minimal hesitation, he barks and whines, trying to ask without speaking, hoping he has not lost his chance so quickly.
Russia's glare softens somewhat at Canada's reaction, but he stalks across the room with a purpose. Canada cowers as Russia's hand is raised, surprised when the hand merely rests on his head. Pressing down, Russia speaks, “You are a dog. You will walk like a dog.”
Canada's first reaction is to protest, but he stifles it. If being a dog will keep him out of the dark room, then he will be a dog. Dropping to his hands and knees so quickly that he scrapes his bare legs on the stone floor, he looks up to Russia with restrained hope and a questioning bark. He hadn't known not to walk on two legs, and he'd only hesitated for a moment. Would the man decide he needed to go back?
No, Russia was smiling, crouching down to meet Canada's eyes. “Very good. Now you can be trained properly.”
Canada's gaze is cold and angry, but the fear and resignation that lurks in the back of his eyes dilutes its strength. There is nothing he can do, no one who will save him, and he knows that if Russia gives him an order, he will do it, no matter how humiliating or degrading it might be, simply so that he won't be returned to the cold, dark box of a room.
Russia pulls him close, sending tingles up Canada's spine as he rubs the boy's back gently, not seeing the clear discomfort in Canada's expression. “Don't worry, little dog. You are smart enough that it will be easy.” With that less-than-comforting thought, Russia stands, walking over to a cupboard on the far side of the room. “You will be needing food, da?”
Canada's stomach growls at the reminder, and he barks an affirmation. Russia smiles and pulls out a thin package. Canada squints to see what is written on it, and realizes with a wave of panic that his glasses are missing. Straining his memory, he wonders if they have been gone since the beginning and he just never noticed. He isn't so near-sighted that he can't see well enough, it's just that he can't make out the small things like writing and small pictures if they're more than three or four feet away without them. Not liking the thought of being impaired at all in Russia's house, he barks as he tries to pantomime “glasses” with his makeshift paws.
“Silly dog,” Russia laughs. “Only people wear glasses.”
It is basically the answer Canada expected, but it is depressing nonetheless as he watches Russia pull something out of the bag. He tries squinting harder, but all he can make out are the red and brown colors in various shapes decorating the outside of the bag.
“First lesson,” Canada straightens; though the tone is playful, the words are frightening. “Catch.”
It takes a moment for the bewildered nation to react - as Russia tosses a small, flat stick into the air, Canada watches it fly towards him, wanting to reach out his hands to grab it. Then he remembers the gloves, and his “dog” status, and realizes what Russia wants him to do.
He crawls forward, stumbling as his legs protest their being scraped along the floor and his fingers protest being pressed underneath his palm as they support his weight. The stick - though now he can tell that it seems to be a nicely-sized strip of dried jerky - lands on the floor just in front of him, and he looks from it to Russia warily.
Unconditional - Part 4c/?
anonymous
March 4 2011, 02:33:06 UTC
“Go on, little dog,” Russia chuckles, a happy sound that puts Canada's fear somewhat at ease. “You tried your best. All you need is a little practice.”
Food that isn't unappetizing brown mush. . . Canada has almost forgotten such a thing exists. Knowing better than to even attempt to use his glove-bound hands, Canada leans down eagerly. It takes him a couple tries to get the jerky from the floor with only his mouth, and once it's up he has to resort to holding it awkwardly between his hands as he gnaws at the leathery meat, but it's seasoned and delicious, and the realization that he is acting all the more like a dog is ignored.
One of these days, I'm going to get the hang of this characters-per-comment thing. I will. Eventually. Hope you like.
Re: Unconditional - Part 4c/?
anonymous
March 4 2011, 04:19:43 UTC
This is awesome, anon! *w*
Also, a trick I use for the characters-per-comment is to use Word Count in a word document. The character limit is 4300 characters, and a word count will often show you both the amount of words and characters used.
Re: Unconditional - Part 4c/?
anonymous
March 4 2011, 07:54:24 UTC
Hey, loving this story. And to your previous question, my mind didn't even pick up the switch in tenses, but I think that is a good thing. It means it's not distracting and you do a good job making the transition.
Also, a friendly pointer, when posting to the fills list apparently there is a rule that you post only once per page and per day. If there are two posts on the same page you place the second as a reply to the first. I'm only stating this because I've noticed some people get upset over it, so I though it would help to know for future updates.
This is so good *__* I really like how you're developing Canada's gradual submission to the situation as he's faced with the alternative, but still trying to internally cling to rebelling against Russia. And the way that Russia's acting (where he truly believes he's helping Canada, and seems surprised and unhappy when Canada lashes out) seems very IC for him.
Also I am going away for about a week now, so I might be unable to leave comments to any future updates for abit. However, I do have this thread tagged so I can read each part on my cellphone as it ends up in my email box, and I'll try to leave a big review when I get back!
Unconditional - Part 5/?
anonymous
March 5 2011, 03:26:56 UTC
Thanks to all reviewers!
Russia returned later, wielding an oddly shaped object - like a bowl with a rubber tube stuck through a hole in the bottom and long leather straps hanging from the wide opening - in one hand, and a new bowl in the other. Both objects were set down close by before he turned to Canada. The look in his eyes had the smaller nation pulling away - he would not submit to whatever strange torture the man had come up with - but it was not long before Russia overpowered him. Holding Canada down, Russia shoved the tube into the boy's mouth and down his throat, ignoring his struggles as he gagged at the intrusion. The contraption was then tied in place, Russia pulling off the knot at the back of Canada's head with one hand.
Then he moved for the bowl, filled with the same mush as before.
“I am sorry, but you must eat.”
Tears of anger and frustration rolled down Canada's eyes, his arms locked between his body and the wall at an awkward angle with Russia's knee digging into his chest, and his legs trapped underneath Russia's other leg. He struggled to turn his head away, but Russia had a hand in his hair, holding him in place.
Russia poured a small amount of the mush down the tube, and Canada had to fight to keep it from coming right back up. Somehow, he managed to swallow, just in time for Russia to dump a little more into the tube. By the end, Canada lay still, his arms numb and his throat sore. His face itched from dried tears and snot, and Russia's proud smile did nothing to make him feel better.
“Good dog,” Russia said as he untied the feeding tube and pulled it out. “You will not waste food again, will you?”
Canada shook his head, swallowing as he tried to erase the feeling of rubber down his throat. His mouth was dry, but he would not test Russia again by asking for water. Not now that he knew just how far the man was willing to go. Instead, he licked his lips a few times, staring up at Russia with frightened, pleading eyes. Begging for the man to realize what he was trying to ask.
Russia's smile broadened, “You are thirsty?”
Fearfully, Canada nodded, his shoulders hunched as he waited for Russia to find something wrong with his actions, some reason to hold back water in punishment.
“Very good.” Russia's hand swept through Canada's matted hair, patting him almost playfully. “You have learned. I will bring your water.”
And he did. The bowl was placed on the ground, filled with water. Beneath Russia's expectant gaze, Canada crawled forward, ducked his head and began to lap up the water.
“Good dog. You learn quickly,” Russia said, as if it was the highest praise he could give, before he left. Cutting off the light as he closed the door behind him.
Canada would have cried if he'd had any tears left.
Xx
Russia laughs as Canada finishes up his treat by licking his gloves, lapping up every last crumb of the first real food he'd had since his imprisonment. “You liked that, didn't you?”
Canada barks in what he hopes is an affirming manner, even as he watches Russia for more. One piece of meat was not enough to fill his stomach, and he hopes that there will be more real food, rather than the slop he is always served. Unfortunately, Russia has other plans.
“You get treats when you do well, little dog. If you are hungry, your bowl is right here.” Russia empties a can into one of two bowls sitting in an out of the way corner.
Canada frowns, but crawls over to eat. It is not mush, but more solid chunks of meat in some sort of gravy that he suspects might be actual dog food. He eats it anyway. Food is food, and refusing might put him back outside. And even if the taste is a bit odd, it's still better than the mush.
Full and warm, Canada laps up some water before he pads back to his nest, where he curls up to watch Russia move about the kitchen. It is peaceful, and a part of his mind begins to wonder if he would truly give it up for his old life - a life of being alone. The thought is quickly shut down, as Canada remembers his long captivity and reasserts his purpose. He would continue to play along with Russia until the man let his guard down. Then he would escape and expose Russia for his crimes.
XX
“You are so troubled, little Canada. So sad.”
Canada almost protested the “little,” but decided otherwise. He didn't want to antagonize the other nation over a single word. He sips at the alcohol in his cup and listens as Russia continues.
“I know what it is like to be lonely,” the man mourns as he downs another glass of vodka. “It is hard, not having a friend. I have watched you, you know.”
Canada frowns, he hadn't known. Suspicion began to form in his gut. “Why?”
“You always look so sad, sitting there, all alone with an animal that can't even remember your name. It made me want to help you,” Russia lifts a hand, almost as if to pat Canada on the head, before he pulls it back quickly. “I thought you would not mind escaping the world.”
The suspicion deepens, but Canada smiles wistfully, “It would be nice to get away from it all. . .” suddenly he feels very tired, yawning deeply, “. . . just for a while.”
“I'm glad you agree.” Russia sets his glass on the table, smiling deeply. “It will all be better in the end.”
The room is spinning, as Canada tries to stand, his mind screaming at him. It was a trap. And he had fallen right into it. “Ru- ssia. . .”
That was the last he knew before he had woken up, chained to the wall of a small, cold room with a single bucket for use as a toilet; clad only in a thin t-shirt and shorts that might as well have been made of paper for all the good they did.
Xx
Canada can't quite remember why he had gone with Russia that fateful day, but somehow it didn't seem to matter anymore. All that mattered was that he had followed the larger nation; so glad to have been noticed for once that he never question why the hostile, violent man was being so friendly.
Tugging with frozen fingers at the chain holding him down, Canada wishes he had wondered, wishes he could go back and warn himself to run, to get away before it was too late. He can't, though, and so he must find another way to escape this hell.
“You can't escape,” Russia's voice comes out of the darkness, almost angry in its harshness. And yet, a small part of Canada wants to cheer at not being alone in the dark anymore. “Why do you keep trying, little dog?”
“I'm not your dog!” Canada shouts in a hoarse voice before he remembers the rules. Stiffening, he looks to the door with wide eyes. He almost wants to apologize, but knows that speaking further will only make it worse, and he refuses to whine like an animal.
“You wanted this. I am only helping you, little dog. You will be grateful when it is over.”
Words bubble to the surface; words filled with anger and hatred and vehement disagreement; but Canada holds them in. Dogs are not supposed to speak. Instead he lets go of the chain, rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to return some semblance of warmth to his fingertips.
There is a long moment of silence, and then the kennel door opens, letting in some small light that has Canada blinking for a moment, and Russia enters, stooping over to fit his large frame through the small opening. “I have tried to be nice, little dog, but you do not listen. So I must teach you a lesson.”
Canada knows what the man sees as “lessons” and a chill goes down his spine, even as he wonders what he had done to need another lesson. He had eaten the food Russia had brought him that morning. He had not spoken a word until today's slip-up. What was he to be punished for this time?
He does not expect to see what appear to be long gloves in Russia's hand, and the moment of confusion is all it takes for the man to latch on to his collar.
“You have been tugging at that chain for days. Your hands must be so cold; don't you know it is not good for little dogs to be pulling at their chains like that?” Russia clicks his tongue several times with an almost disappointed air. “I can't let you be hurting yourself. Hold out your hand.”
Eyes still wary, Canada lifts his right arm hesitantly. Gloves are nearly as good as blankets, but that can't be all they are. Not as a punishment.
He is right.
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“There will be no more tugging on chains,” Russia states matter-of-factly as he reaches for Canada's left arm.
It is humiliating, having his hands made as useless as a dog's paw, but he doesn't fight as the second glove is drawn up onto his left arm. They are warm, regardless of their purpose, and Canada has learned not to fight pointless battles.
“You will be a good dog now. I do not like having to keep you in here.”
“Then why do you!?” Canada wants to shout. “Why do you lock me up like an animal, treat me like a pet that won't behave?!” He knows it is futile; Russia won't listen and it would only make things harder on himself.
He must have let something slip in his expression though, because Russia frowns and ruffles his hair. “It will be all be good. You will see.”
And then he leaves, and Canada is left alone in the dark once more. Curling up into a ball to conserve body heat, Canada whimpers softly, almost too soft to hear. Russia might keep him in this cold, dark cage until he has lost himself completely; and it is that, the thought of becoming one of the others - the ones who don't even know Canada exists - that scares him the most.
After all, who will remember the forgotten, if not themselves?
---
Did I do everything right? I've never posted on LJ before, much less to the Kink Meme, and I'm a bit nervous.
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You've got their characterizations spot on, and Canada's fear and rebellion is so wonderful and palpable. I'm loving your type of Russian crazy, as well.
Please continue! I'm really looking forward to seeing more!
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As soon as it sank in that he was chained and collared like an animal, Canada tried to stand, determined to break his way out of the cold room. The collar choked him before he was off his knees. He fell to the floor, his hands reaching to sooth the pain in his neck as he gasped for air. The chain was only about four feet long, attached to the wall just above the floor. Long enough to lay down, even sit up or move around a little, but not to stand.
He began to shout, calling for Russia, for anyone, to let him out. With time, his shouts became more hysterical, full of hidden fear and anger. What if Russia had forgotten him completely? The thought brought new life to his cries, until the darkness and the loneliness overcame him and he broke down into tears.
Xx
When Russia returns the next morning - or at least, Canada assumes it's morning - he does not bring the daily meal. Instead, he carries two large buckets that splash as he sets them down inside the door.
“You were not a good dog yesterday, so I cannot put you outside while I wash the floor.”
Canada blushes - with his hands bound as they are, he had not been able to use the bucket - even as his eyes widen with horror. It is cold enough without water, the thought of how much worse it will be if he's wet has him trying to hide in the farthest corner. The chain won't stretch that far though, and he is still tugging at it when Russia upends the first bucket, sending its contents across the small room.
The water hits him like an electric shock, and Canada is sure that his skin has turned blue as he shivers violently in the chilly air. The second bucket is just as bad, soaking what little managed to escape the first and sending him to the floor, shaking so hard his teeth bang together. His clothes are soaked, even the warm gloves, and there is nothing he can do but lay there and wish for it to all go away.
“You will be a good dog?”
Canada nods, but it is lost in another violent wave of shaking. What little pride he has left shatters as Canada whines, doing his best to sound like Finland's little dog when she wants to be petted.
It must have been acceptable, because Russia steps closer, sitting down next to Canada's frozen body and pulling the smaller boy close. “You will not misbehave again.”
Tears and snot mingling on his face, Canada nods, whimpering pitifully as he leans into Russia's warmth. Russia pats his head lovingly, before running a large hand down across Canada's cheek, “Good little dog.”
Then he stands, taking the warmth as he walks away. Canada is so cold, so afraid of being alone, so scared that Russia is just going to leave him like this, cold and wet, that he acts without thinking. He barks anxiously, rising to his knees and tugging at the collar as he tries to capture Russia's coat in his gloved hands. Anything to keep Russia from leaving. He is still shaking though, and Russia has not even made it out of the door before Canada is back on the floor, trembling as he tries to find some warmth in his wet clothes.
He barely notices as Russia returns, barely hears the whispered chastisement when he doesn't move but to tremble and shake. The cold has reached his bones, and it feels as though any movement would shatter them.
“I am sorry, Matvey. . .” Warmth brushes through his hair and envelopes his damp skin, and Canada's shivers lessen somewhat as he drinks it in. It is then that he fades out, not hearing more than a low rumble as Russia continues to speak.
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Your writing style and descriptions are very good, and I'm really enjoying this so far! I can't wait for the next part +____+ You are doing a wonderful job, authoranon!
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Canada laid on the floor, his throat dry and his stomach growling. He had no way to know how much time had passed since he had been brought here, no way to know how long he had been screaming like a madman. All he knew was that no one had come.
And then the door opened, and light spilled into the room, revealing it to be more of an over-sized crate with a single brick wall than an actual room. The light burned at first, so Canada ducked his head away, covering his eyes with his fingers.
“You have been shouting so angrily, little dog. Can you not realize I only want to help you.” The voice was like music to his ears, a sign that he will not die chained to a wall, alone and forgotten in the dark. And then he recognized it, and remembered.
Russia.
Fueled by anger, Canada's strength returned somewhat. Enough to lash out with a fist as the man leaned over to check on his new project. Russia caught the blow in his hand, dropping what he had been holding. The bowl of water hit the floor and splashed.
“Look what you have done, you naughty dog.” Russia knelt down next to him. “I will not bring more water until tomorrow. That is all you get.”
“But. . .”
A hand covered Canada's mouth. “Dogs do not speak. You must learn to behave properly or you will be punished. Now drink.” The hand was removed, and Canada's head was shoved downwards, toward the puddle on the floor. He struggled, but Russia's grip was unyielding. “You must drink so that you do not get sick.”
Canada stuck out his tongue, knowing that he did need water. His face was red, his heart pounding angrily as he slowly lapped up the spilled water, cool and refreshing to his dry throat despite its origins.
What did Russia get out of treating him like this?
Xx
It is warm when Canada wakes, a flickering fire dancing just out of reach. There is a blanket beneath him, thick and heavy and warm. Though the chill lingers inside of him, the warmth is slowly replacing it, and he wants nothing more than to lie there and bask in it.
“Are you better?”
Canada blinks weary eyes upward, too tired to lift his head properly. Russia is staring down at him, towering over him like a giant with concern in his eyes.
“I didn't mean to hurt you,” Russia says, and Canada almost believes it. “And you were good, so I brought you inside. I do not want to take you back outside, but if you misbehave, I will have no choice.”
Canada looks around, surprised to find that he is in a large kitchen. He is still chained, but the chain is longer - possibly long enough to move around the room with ease - and attached to a bolt built into the fireplace bricks. Frowning, he rolls over to warm his other side; he will decide what to do once he is no longer too exhausted to think.
The sudden weight on Canada's head sometime later is enough to startle him into a state of pseudo-consciousness, but not enough to make him move. His eyes open a slit, revealing Russia, sitting with his back to the hearth and his legs stretched out in front of him. It is his hand that rests atop Canada's hair, fingers moving slowly as if to massage his scalp.
“Why do you fight me, little Matvey? Do you truly hate me so much?” Russia's voice is quiet, barely audible in the crackling of wood burning in the fireplace. He is not truly speaking to Canada, his eyes staring blankly into the distance. “You and I are so alike, but you are clean, fresh snow and I. . . I am. . .” there is a long pause, before he shakes his head. “I am not.”
Canada frowns, fighting to stay awake and hear more as the darkness drags him back under to the soft rhythm of fingers dancing in his hair and the scent of burning pine. He dreams of happiness, and laughter, and smiling violet eyes; only to remember nothing in the morning.
I would like to know, what do you think of the format (past/present/...)? Does it throw you off, or does it work?
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*A* more please?
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Lmao, in short this fanfiction is making me rethink my really stupid stance on tense. You're doing a great job!
Oh, and just to let you know, I am obessively checking this a next update. I love this <3
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I'm in love with this fill! I'm so happy you decided to take it up! Good luck with writing the next part! ♥
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I don't actually like present tense myself, but this story sort of wrote itself, so by the time I realized that it was in present tense, it was easier to just continue, rather than go back and try and change it all to past.(Trust me, I tried - not fun.) I'm glad it turned out okay.
To OP!anon, I probably won't update more than once a day, but I should be able to update every day for a while. But feel free to be as obsessive as you want. :)
When Russia returned, Canada had done nothing but pull at the chain holding him to the wall. It was the only real obstacle to his escape at this point, at least that he could see.
“Stop that.”
Canada stiffened, dropping the chain as he turned to face Russia.
“You will eat.” A bowl is set on the floor in front of him, filled with what appeared to be some sort of brown mush. It didn't smell quite as bad as England's cooking, but there is nothing that could entice Canada to eat it. The hunger wasn't so bad anymore, and he would rather starve.
He pushed the bowl away with a grimace.
“Do you really wish to starve?” Russia's voice was almost pleading. “I only want to help you, but I cannot do that if you refuse to cooperate.”
“Maybe I don't want to be helped!” Canada shouted, his eyes blazing. “Maybe I just want to go home!” If he could, he would be on his feet, and he imagined leaping at the Russian bastard, biting and clawing like the animal he was told to be, like the untamed Northern nation he had once been. But he was chained, and so it had to be enough to shout.
“Dogs. Do. Not. Speak.” Russia was truly angry, and Canada cowered under his rage. “How do you ever expect this to work if you do not behave?”
“I-” The look in Russia's eyes was enough to cut the protest off before it even began.
“One more word, and there will be consequences. Now, you will eat,” Russia kicked the bowl forward, “or I will have to make you eat.”
Glaring angrily, Canada reached a hand for the bowl. Only to find his arm trapped under Russia's foot. “Eat it properly.”
Properly? Russia removed his foot and nudged the bowl closer. Oh, “proper” for a dog. Hissing angrily under his breath, Canada crouched lower, ducking his head towards the unappetizing mush. Then he moved, grabbing the bowl and throwing it into Russia's face before the man could react.
The mush was not as solid as it had looked, and it dripped down Russia's face and onto his shirt and the floor as the bowl hit the ground with a ringing clatter. Canada grinned almost savagely at Russia's bewildered look. The look quickly changed to anger, and Russia stalked out with a final, “You will not like it so much when I force the food down your throat,” that wiped the smirk from Canada's face.
Xx
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The curtains are pulled apart to reveal a winter wonderland, snow covering everything the eye can see, though there is little but land and a small building that Canada assumes is his kennel in sight. He shivers at the thought of being sent back - all alone in the cold and the dark - and vows to do everything in his power to keep Russia happy.
“Bad dog!!”
The angry shout has Canada jumping away from the window with a start. Was he not supposed to look outside? With only minimal hesitation, he barks and whines, trying to ask without speaking, hoping he has not lost his chance so quickly.
Russia's glare softens somewhat at Canada's reaction, but he stalks across the room with a purpose. Canada cowers as Russia's hand is raised, surprised when the hand merely rests on his head. Pressing down, Russia speaks, “You are a dog. You will walk like a dog.”
Canada's first reaction is to protest, but he stifles it. If being a dog will keep him out of the dark room, then he will be a dog. Dropping to his hands and knees so quickly that he scrapes his bare legs on the stone floor, he looks up to Russia with restrained hope and a questioning bark. He hadn't known not to walk on two legs, and he'd only hesitated for a moment. Would the man decide he needed to go back?
No, Russia was smiling, crouching down to meet Canada's eyes. “Very good. Now you can be trained properly.”
Canada's gaze is cold and angry, but the fear and resignation that lurks in the back of his eyes dilutes its strength. There is nothing he can do, no one who will save him, and he knows that if Russia gives him an order, he will do it, no matter how humiliating or degrading it might be, simply so that he won't be returned to the cold, dark box of a room.
Russia pulls him close, sending tingles up Canada's spine as he rubs the boy's back gently, not seeing the clear discomfort in Canada's expression. “Don't worry, little dog. You are smart enough that it will be easy.” With that less-than-comforting thought, Russia stands, walking over to a cupboard on the far side of the room. “You will be needing food, da?”
Canada's stomach growls at the reminder, and he barks an affirmation. Russia smiles and pulls out a thin package. Canada squints to see what is written on it, and realizes with a wave of panic that his glasses are missing. Straining his memory, he wonders if they have been gone since the beginning and he just never noticed. He isn't so near-sighted that he can't see well enough, it's just that he can't make out the small things like writing and small pictures if they're more than three or four feet away without them. Not liking the thought of being impaired at all in Russia's house, he barks as he tries to pantomime “glasses” with his makeshift paws.
“Silly dog,” Russia laughs. “Only people wear glasses.”
It is basically the answer Canada expected, but it is depressing nonetheless as he watches Russia pull something out of the bag. He tries squinting harder, but all he can make out are the red and brown colors in various shapes decorating the outside of the bag.
“First lesson,” Canada straightens; though the tone is playful, the words are frightening. “Catch.”
It takes a moment for the bewildered nation to react - as Russia tosses a small, flat stick into the air, Canada watches it fly towards him, wanting to reach out his hands to grab it. Then he remembers the gloves, and his “dog” status, and realizes what Russia wants him to do.
He crawls forward, stumbling as his legs protest their being scraped along the floor and his fingers protest being pressed underneath his palm as they support his weight. The stick - though now he can tell that it seems to be a nicely-sized strip of dried jerky - lands on the floor just in front of him, and he looks from it to Russia warily.
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Food that isn't unappetizing brown mush. . . Canada has almost forgotten such a thing exists. Knowing better than to even attempt to use his glove-bound hands, Canada leans down eagerly. It takes him a couple tries to get the jerky from the floor with only his mouth, and once it's up he has to resort to holding it awkwardly between his hands as he gnaws at the leathery meat, but it's seasoned and delicious, and the realization that he is acting all the more like a dog is ignored.
One of these days, I'm going to get the hang of this characters-per-comment thing. I will. Eventually.
Hope you like.
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Also, a trick I use for the characters-per-comment is to use Word Count in a word document. The character limit is 4300 characters, and a word count will often show you both the amount of words and characters used.
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And to your previous question, my mind didn't even pick up the switch in tenses, but I think that is a good thing. It means it's not distracting and you do a good job making the transition.
Also, a friendly pointer, when posting to the fills list apparently there is a rule that you post only once per page and per day. If there are two posts on the same page you place the second as a reply to the first. I'm only stating this because I've noticed some people get upset over it, so I though it would help to know for future updates.
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Also I am going away for about a week now, so I might be unable to leave comments to any future updates for abit. However, I do have this thread tagged so I can read each part on my cellphone as it ends up in my email box, and I'll try to leave a big review when I get back!
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Russia returned later, wielding an oddly shaped object - like a bowl with a rubber tube stuck through a hole in the bottom and long leather straps hanging from the wide opening - in one hand, and a new bowl in the other. Both objects were set down close by before he turned to Canada. The look in his eyes had the smaller nation pulling away - he would not submit to whatever strange torture the man had come up with - but it was not long before Russia overpowered him. Holding Canada down, Russia shoved the tube into the boy's mouth and down his throat, ignoring his struggles as he gagged at the intrusion. The contraption was then tied in place, Russia pulling off the knot at the back of Canada's head with one hand.
Then he moved for the bowl, filled with the same mush as before.
“I am sorry, but you must eat.”
Tears of anger and frustration rolled down Canada's eyes, his arms locked between his body and the wall at an awkward angle with Russia's knee digging into his chest, and his legs trapped underneath Russia's other leg. He struggled to turn his head away, but Russia had a hand in his hair, holding him in place.
Russia poured a small amount of the mush down the tube, and Canada had to fight to keep it from coming right back up. Somehow, he managed to swallow, just in time for Russia to dump a little more into the tube. By the end, Canada lay still, his arms numb and his throat sore. His face itched from dried tears and snot, and Russia's proud smile did nothing to make him feel better.
“Good dog,” Russia said as he untied the feeding tube and pulled it out. “You will not waste food again, will you?”
Canada shook his head, swallowing as he tried to erase the feeling of rubber down his throat. His mouth was dry, but he would not test Russia again by asking for water. Not now that he knew just how far the man was willing to go. Instead, he licked his lips a few times, staring up at Russia with frightened, pleading eyes. Begging for the man to realize what he was trying to ask.
Russia's smile broadened, “You are thirsty?”
Fearfully, Canada nodded, his shoulders hunched as he waited for Russia to find something wrong with his actions, some reason to hold back water in punishment.
“Very good.” Russia's hand swept through Canada's matted hair, patting him almost playfully. “You have learned. I will bring your water.”
And he did. The bowl was placed on the ground, filled with water. Beneath Russia's expectant gaze, Canada crawled forward, ducked his head and began to lap up the water.
“Good dog. You learn quickly,” Russia said, as if it was the highest praise he could give, before he left. Cutting off the light as he closed the door behind him.
Canada would have cried if he'd had any tears left.
Xx
Russia laughs as Canada finishes up his treat by licking his gloves, lapping up every last crumb of the first real food he'd had since his imprisonment. “You liked that, didn't you?”
Canada barks in what he hopes is an affirming manner, even as he watches Russia for more. One piece of meat was not enough to fill his stomach, and he hopes that there will be more real food, rather than the slop he is always served. Unfortunately, Russia has other plans.
“You get treats when you do well, little dog. If you are hungry, your bowl is right here.” Russia empties a can into one of two bowls sitting in an out of the way corner.
Canada frowns, but crawls over to eat. It is not mush, but more solid chunks of meat in some sort of gravy that he suspects might be actual dog food. He eats it anyway. Food is food, and refusing might put him back outside. And even if the taste is a bit odd, it's still better than the mush.
Full and warm, Canada laps up some water before he pads back to his nest, where he curls up to watch Russia move about the kitchen. It is peaceful, and a part of his mind begins to wonder if he would truly give it up for his old life - a life of being alone. The thought is quickly shut down, as Canada remembers his long captivity and reasserts his purpose. He would continue to play along with Russia until the man let his guard down. Then he would escape and expose Russia for his crimes.
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