Unconditional - Part 6a/?
anonymous
March 6 2011, 03:45:20 UTC
This part is a bit awkward, but I've already rewritten it several times, so it's staying. Criticism is welcome as, other than my reader!anons, I am the only one looking at the story, and I'm not always good at telling what works and what doesn't. Thanks.
Russia returned again and again, and always Canada was silent - his face blank and his eyes dark. He did nothing as Russia spoke to him, save trying to hide that his fingers were worn and red from contact with the cold metal of the chain. When Russia ordered him to “eat” and “drink” he moved, but slowly, like an automaton.
Then the routine vanished, as Russia placed the bowls on the floor just out of reach. “You are always so quiet,” Russia begins. “It is sad, not being able to hear your voice.”
For a brief moment, Canada wondered if he was to be allowed to speak once again, and then Russia continued, “I thought it might help you to hear what dogs sound like.”
He pulled out a small recorder, and played a wide array of different dog noises: barking, whining, growling, happy yipping, angry yapping, howling. . . . Canada wasn't sure how long they sat there in the room, the only light streaming through the open door, listening to the sounds dogs could make - the sounds he was expected to make.
Then Russia began the sounds again from the beginning, pausing it after the first round of barking. “Now you must try.” Canada turned his head away in silent rebellion.
Russia reached out, grabbing Canada's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do not test me, little dog. I only want to help, but bad dogs must be disciplined.”
Stiffening, Canada looked to Russia for some sign that he was bluffing, but the warning glint in his eyes said otherwise.
With no enthusiasm, Canada barked. “Ruff, ruff, r-ruff.” It was only the beginning.
By the time Russia clicked off the player, Canada's throat was sore, and his pride wounded. He ate mechanically, barely tasting the mush, though he drank the water bowl dry.
“You still need practice, but it is very good for your first time.” Canada paled. “It will not be long before you are able to speak properly.” Russia smiled, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Canada promised himself that he would never use those sounds outside of Russia's training, but it didn't help. He could already feel his spirit, his very humanity slipping away with every bite he took; every drop of water he lapped from the bowl; every yip, whimper, and growl he imitated; with every day that passed as he grew more and more grateful that someone (anyone) was there to keep his loneliness at bay, if only for a few moments.
When Russia finally left that day, Canada's efforts to pull the chain from the wall doubled.
Xx
After months of training and warmth and being pampered like a beloved pet, it is the thought of escape that's being shut down in Canada's mind. Russia has been nothing but kind and gentle, feeding him twice a day, making sure he always has water, even patching up a cut on his leg where he had scraped it chasing after the rubber bone. (Russia had tried fetch with the tennis ball once, and Canada had spent nearly five minutes trying to snag it in his teeth before Russia had called him off.)
It is a simple life, one where the only thing Canada has to care about is listening to Russia, and his reasons for escaping grow fewer and fewer as Russia ensures that he wants for nothing. The world outside of Russia's home becomes little more than a memory, and even that fades with time. And when Russia finally begins to talk of taking Canada off of the chain if he continues to be so well-behaved, there is only happiness and pride at the thought that Russia trusts him enough to consider removing the chain for good.
And then the world turns upside down.
“Hey, Commie!” Someone bangs on the door as if the world is coming to an end. “I know you're in there! Open this door before I break it down!”
Unconditional - Part 6b/?
anonymous
March 6 2011, 04:27:51 UTC
Russia is brushing out Canada's hair in the kitchen, separating it into strands for a short braid when he arrives. Canada hears the voice, recognizing that he should know who it was, but unable to care that he doesn't. He whines as Russia's grip on his hair tightens enough to pull.
“How. . .?” Russia sets the brush down and nudges Canada gently out of his lap. Canada whimpers anxiously as Russia stands and begins to panic. “He cannot see you. He will take you away from me. He will take you away, and never let me see you again!”
The thought of being stolen away from his Master is frightening, but seeing Russia - calm, gentle Russia - so worked up is even more so. Something in him warns against upsetting the already distressed man, but Canada cannot bear the sight of his Master's upset face. He barks softly, crouching low to the ground as he watches Russia's every movement warily.
Russia stops abruptly. “Little dog. . .” Then he kneels and hugs Canada close, “Stay here and be silent. You will be fine. I will not let Amerika take you.”
With that he is gone, and Canada is left alone to listen and wonder who could evoke such fear in Russia.
Amerika. The words resound in his head, echoing like a drum. He will take you away.
“Open up, Russia!” Canada trembles at the angry voice, fearing for Russia's safety as he paces the kitchen, too nervous to try and rest. “I know you know where he is! I know you know where Mattie is!”
Mattie.
Amerika. America. Alfred!
Canada's mind erupts as the dormant anger and longing for escape rises to the surface.
He will rescue you. He will take you home.
He will forget you. He will take you to spite Russia, and then he will forget you ever existed.
Canada shakes his head forcefully, trying to hide from the voices.
He did want to be human again. To be free. To go back to being his own person.
To being alone and forgotten by everyone. No one to care for you.
But he also wants to be loved; cared for. To know there is someone he could turn to.
A man who has imprisoned and tortured you.
He wants to go home. To see Kumajirou again. To dance in the snow.
To be attacked by America's enemies. Forgotten by your friends.
He wants. . .
Loneliness. Freedom.
To be free. To be alone.
Canada clutches at his head, wanting to scream as his mind fights against itself. He can hear America shouting and Russia's dry responses, but their words are mere whispers against the torment of his own mind.
LONELY! FREE!
In the end there is only one voice, as Canada screams, his cry inhuman and desperate. His back arches as he releases all of his rage and frustration with himself and the world into a single sound that delves deep into the listeners' souls.
“Matvey!”
“Mattie?!”
When the last echoes fade away, there is silence. Canada collapses, empty eyes staring forward as he lies on the floor.
Both men rush to the kitchen, but America barely arrives first, stopping mid-step in the doorway to take in the collar and chain and his brother's naked body.
“What did you do?” America's voice is cold, taut with restrained anger, walking forward with deliberate steps.
Russia stands in the kitchen doorway, watching with hopeless, worried eyes as America snaps the chain with ease, lifting Canada's body from the ground and pulling a blanket from the nest to protect his brother's modesty.
Once again the question is asked, America's eyes blazing as he faces Russia, Canada's limp form cradled in his arms, “What did you do to him?!”
Russia has no answer.
America stalks out, holding Canada as gently as he would a newborn infant. When he reaches the front door, he turns to Russia, who has followed him at a safe distance. In the same cold voice, he warns, “If you ever touch him again, I will destroy everything you have ever held dear. And then, as you mourn, I will put an end to your miserable existence.”
The door slams shut behind him. Russia doesn't move, violet eyes staring blankly forward. “Matvey. . . .”
Re: Unconditional - Part 6b/?
anonymous
March 7 2011, 02:26:49 UTC
This is so amazing, anon!! I love it so much! I felt so bad for Russia when America took Canada away... I can't wait to see what happens next! (Does Russia get him back? Does Canada go back on his own?)
And I don't mean to be rude to the anon above, but: please keep it RusCan! I love it so much! ;o;
Russia returned again and again, and always Canada was silent - his face blank and his eyes dark. He did nothing as Russia spoke to him, save trying to hide that his fingers were worn and red from contact with the cold metal of the chain. When Russia ordered him to “eat” and “drink” he moved, but slowly, like an automaton.
Then the routine vanished, as Russia placed the bowls on the floor just out of reach. “You are always so quiet,” Russia begins. “It is sad, not being able to hear your voice.”
For a brief moment, Canada wondered if he was to be allowed to speak once again, and then Russia continued, “I thought it might help you to hear what dogs sound like.”
He pulled out a small recorder, and played a wide array of different dog noises: barking, whining, growling, happy yipping, angry yapping, howling. . . . Canada wasn't sure how long they sat there in the room, the only light streaming through the open door, listening to the sounds dogs could make - the sounds he was expected to make.
Then Russia began the sounds again from the beginning, pausing it after the first round of barking. “Now you must try.” Canada turned his head away in silent rebellion.
Russia reached out, grabbing Canada's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do not test me, little dog. I only want to help, but bad dogs must be disciplined.”
Stiffening, Canada looked to Russia for some sign that he was bluffing, but the warning glint in his eyes said otherwise.
With no enthusiasm, Canada barked. “Ruff, ruff, r-ruff.” It was only the beginning.
By the time Russia clicked off the player, Canada's throat was sore, and his pride wounded. He ate mechanically, barely tasting the mush, though he drank the water bowl dry.
“You still need practice, but it is very good for your first time.” Canada paled. “It will not be long before you are able to speak properly.” Russia smiled, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Canada promised himself that he would never use those sounds outside of Russia's training, but it didn't help. He could already feel his spirit, his very humanity slipping away with every bite he took; every drop of water he lapped from the bowl; every yip, whimper, and growl he imitated; with every day that passed as he grew more and more grateful that someone (anyone) was there to keep his loneliness at bay, if only for a few moments.
When Russia finally left that day, Canada's efforts to pull the chain from the wall doubled.
Xx
After months of training and warmth and being pampered like a beloved pet, it is the thought of escape that's being shut down in Canada's mind. Russia has been nothing but kind and gentle, feeding him twice a day, making sure he always has water, even patching up a cut on his leg where he had scraped it chasing after the rubber bone. (Russia had tried fetch with the tennis ball once, and Canada had spent nearly five minutes trying to snag it in his teeth before Russia had called him off.)
It is a simple life, one where the only thing Canada has to care about is listening to Russia, and his reasons for escaping grow fewer and fewer as Russia ensures that he wants for nothing. The world outside of Russia's home becomes little more than a memory, and even that fades with time. And when Russia finally begins to talk of taking Canada off of the chain if he continues to be so well-behaved, there is only happiness and pride at the thought that Russia trusts him enough to consider removing the chain for good.
And then the world turns upside down.
“Hey, Commie!” Someone bangs on the door as if the world is coming to an end. “I know you're in there! Open this door before I break it down!”
xx
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“How. . .?” Russia sets the brush down and nudges Canada gently out of his lap. Canada whimpers anxiously as Russia stands and begins to panic. “He cannot see you. He will take you away from me. He will take you away, and never let me see you again!”
The thought of being stolen away from his Master is frightening, but seeing Russia - calm, gentle Russia - so worked up is even more so. Something in him warns against upsetting the already distressed man, but Canada cannot bear the sight of his Master's upset face. He barks softly, crouching low to the ground as he watches Russia's every movement warily.
Russia stops abruptly. “Little dog. . .” Then he kneels and hugs Canada close, “Stay here and be silent. You will be fine. I will not let Amerika take you.”
With that he is gone, and Canada is left alone to listen and wonder who could evoke such fear in Russia.
Amerika. The words resound in his head, echoing like a drum. He will take you away.
“Open up, Russia!” Canada trembles at the angry voice, fearing for Russia's safety as he paces the kitchen, too nervous to try and rest. “I know you know where he is! I know you know where Mattie is!”
Mattie.
Amerika. America. Alfred!
Canada's mind erupts as the dormant anger and longing for escape rises to the surface.
He will rescue you. He will take you home.
He will forget you. He will take you to spite Russia, and then he will forget you ever existed.
Canada shakes his head forcefully, trying to hide from the voices.
He did want to be human again. To be free. To go back to being his own person.
To being alone and forgotten by everyone. No one to care for you.
But he also wants to be loved; cared for. To know there is someone he could turn to.
A man who has imprisoned and tortured you.
He wants to go home. To see Kumajirou again. To dance in the snow.
To be attacked by America's enemies. Forgotten by your friends.
He wants. . .
Loneliness. Freedom.
To be free. To be alone.
Canada clutches at his head, wanting to scream as his mind fights against itself. He can hear America shouting and Russia's dry responses, but their words are mere whispers against the torment of his own mind.
LONELY! FREE!
In the end there is only one voice, as Canada screams, his cry inhuman and desperate. His back arches as he releases all of his rage and frustration with himself and the world into a single sound that delves deep into the listeners' souls.
“Matvey!”
“Mattie?!”
When the last echoes fade away, there is silence. Canada collapses, empty eyes staring forward as he lies on the floor.
Both men rush to the kitchen, but America barely arrives first, stopping mid-step in the doorway to take in the collar and chain and his brother's naked body.
“What did you do?” America's voice is cold, taut with restrained anger, walking forward with deliberate steps.
Russia stands in the kitchen doorway, watching with hopeless, worried eyes as America snaps the chain with ease, lifting Canada's body from the ground and pulling a blanket from the nest to protect his brother's modesty.
Once again the question is asked, America's eyes blazing as he faces Russia, Canada's limp form cradled in his arms, “What did you do to him?!”
Russia has no answer.
America stalks out, holding Canada as gently as he would a newborn infant. When he reaches the front door, he turns to Russia, who has followed him at a safe distance. In the same cold voice, he warns, “If you ever touch him again, I will destroy everything you have ever held dear. And then, as you mourn, I will put an end to your miserable existence.”
The door slams shut behind him. Russia doesn't move, violet eyes staring blankly forward. “Matvey. . . .”
A single tear slips from his eye.
How had it all gone so wrong?
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...though now I'm kinda hoping for an AmCan ending...
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And I don't mean to be rude to the anon above, but: please keep it RusCan! I love it so much! ;o;
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