[FIC] Little Talks - Chapter 1
Title: Little Talks
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character(s) or Pairing(s): (eventual) Russia/China
Rating: PG-13
Warnings for chapter: mentioned, non-graphic death and vulgar language.
Summary: Ghosts aren't real. Ivan keeps telling himself that. Ghosts aren't real.
Notes: A ghost story. WIP. Human AU. Finally posting it to LJ. Inspired by the song Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men.
Can also be read on FF.net
1.
Ivan used to dream a man was sitting on his chest.
When the man was there he could not move or open his eyes despite any effort he made, but he knew the man was there.
He could not see this man, but he would whisper to him, not with voice or language, but into his mind directly.
Take me home, the man would whisper. Please, I want to go home.
Ivan would always wake up after that.
***
When it first happened Ivan had been about 8 years old, and he had told his older sister over breakfast the next day.
“You know,” said his sister. “Some legends say when a spirit sits on your chest you can’t move.”
Since Ivan was just a child, he had not listened.
***
“Damn this old house,” his father said in thickly accented English, through puffs of cigar smoke that always clung to him like a cloud. “Fucking noisy.”
Ivan had nodded absentmindedly and continued to watch his cartoon. Their house was noisy. It was old and creaked at odd times. Ivan liked it though.
He liked it better than the feint memory he had of their apartment back in Russia, which had been simultaneously too small and too lonely.
But they were in America now, they had immigrated for their father’s work, and they had been able to buy a house big enough for Ivan, his papa and both his sisters.
(It would have been big enough for a mama too. She didn’t exist though, so Ivan didn’t dwell too much on that.)
Ivan didn’t mind if the stairs creaked sometimes, even when no one was walking on them.
At least he never felt lonely when he was in this house.
***
Take me home whispered the man. Please, please.
***
The house had a great big staircase, that Ivan would play at the top of sometimes with the toy cars big sister got him for his birthday.
He would have liked to have played with other children, but Natalia was still too little, big sister was too old, and none of the boys in his neighborhood wanted to be friends. It was alright though. He could play alone, he was good at it.
Big sister always told him to put up his cars when he was finished, and Papa would cough and say something along the lines of “Someone’s going to break their neck on those damn things Ivan.”
He usually did. Sometimes he forgot.
He forgot once when he was nine, and one toy car, a red Italian model the name of which Ivan couldn’t remember, was left on the second step from the top.
That was the car Ivan stepped on that evening, just before the sun finished setting while climbing the stairs to go get ready for bed.
Predictably the car had slipped out from under him taking his legs with it, and for one terrifying instant he was falling backwards, and he was going to hit the stairs and someone’s going to break their neck and-
And a hand, firm and warm wrapped around Ivan’s and he was pulled back up and onto the top step, his knees banging painfully against the wood, but his neck decidedly intact.
Ivan’s hands hit the hardwood of the floor, and he looked behind him, at the toy car that had fallen halfway down the stairs and had an impressive dent in the metal.
Then he looked forward.
No one was there, no one to grab his hand and save him. Suddenly Ivan started crying, out of pain or fear or confusion he knew not.
He didn’t know who could have grabbed his hand.
He didn’t know what could have grabbed his hand.
But he was safe, he was alive.
“Thank you,” he choked out through tears, because he was thankful.
He wondered if whatever it was heard him.
***
When Ivan was 12 he bought a Ouija Board and put it in the middle of his room, placing his hands on it.
“What was it that pulled me up the stairs when I was nine?” he asked the board.
No answer.
“Is anyone here?” he asked.
No answer. Plastic stayed stationary on the board.
(He still had his dreams though. He wanted to help the man get home, he really did.)
***
“The only bad thing,” his sister would complain sometimes, “is how draughty this house is. Sometimes it will be in the middle of a hot day and I’ll hit a chilly patch. I swear, I think that’s why papa coughs all the time.”
Ivan had never noticed. It was always chilly to him.
***
“Hey freakshow!” shouted one of the boys in Ivan’s neighborhood. “How’s the weather up there?”
Ivan ignored him like he alway did. At age 13 he already towered over the other boys, even the boys harassing him at the moment, who were a year older than him. It was funny, in a way. He had always been the small until he was about 10, and he had been teased for that too.
It didn’t matter much to him. He could ignore them. He focused instead on the contents of the white plastic bag in his hands. He had just bought a new model plane kit, some sort of American fighter jet. Model planes were his new hobby. When he worked on them his sister didn’t ask him why he wasn’t out playing with the other boys.
“Hey Ivan, how’s that sister of yours?”
Ivan ignored them. Maybe he could start on the plane right when he got home.
“Man, have you seen the knockers on that chick? I’d like to get me some of that!”
Ivan’s grip tightened around the bag, and his jaw clenched. Was it his turn to do the dishes that night? He hoped it wasn’t. He didn’t have homework tonight, so maybe he could get some real progress in with the construction...
“Hey freak, do you think your sister likes it up the ass?”
The box hit the ground as Ivan whirled around and lunged at the boy.
***
Later that night his big sister cried. “How could you fight Ivan! You’re such a sweet boy, why would you do that?”
Ivan said nothing and continued to nurse his throbbing eye. It was not so bad. The other boy had run away with a broken nose and a chipped tooth, and his friend with a cut on the back of his head where he had fallen to the pavement.
“What if you had really hurt them Ivan? Their parents are threatening to sue, and you know we can’t afford that right now, not with father!”
Ivan scowled. “I had to fight them.”
“Why? Why did you have too?”
Ivan did not answer.
His sister sighed. “I’m going to have to tell father, Ivan.”
“No you don’t.”
“Ivan-”
“You’re always saying how we shouldn’t stress him because he’s sick. This would just stress him out.”
She didn’t say anything. But she never said anything in regards to papa’s illness. The doctor had used a lot of words, words like carcinoma, and malignant, and maybe a year.
She never said anything.
Ivan stood and went to his room, locking himself inside.
The plane kit had been crushed during the fight, but Ivan refused to cry. He laid down on his bed and stared up at his ceiling, focusing on nothing but the ache of his bruised eye.
That night he dreamed his head was lying in someone’s lap and they were stroking his hair, comforting him.
***
His father died a few weeks later.
They never told him about the cause of Ivan’s black eye.
He never asked.
***
Natalia slept in the same bed as Ivan for a month or so after papa died.
Ivan had no dreams when she was in bed with him, and he felt much warmer than he normally did.
Ivan chose to believe it was just the shared body warmth of his sister pressed up against him, trying not to cry.
***
He started looking for a job. His sister couldn’t take care of them all on her own.
He was too young for a legal job, but he was tall enough to lie.
He stopped paying any attention to his dreams.
***
“I think we need to move,” said his big sister in a very serious voice.
Ivan felt a pain in his chest, but it was little Natalia that yelped “Why?”
“It’s too expensive... We can’t keep up with the payments, and this is an expensive neighborhood...”
Natalia looked like she was about to throw a fit. Ivan just felt numb. This was the only place that had ever really felt like home. This was the only place he never felt alone.
Suddenly, across the room, a glass fell off the countertop and shattered forcefully on the ground. They all jumped and were left staring at the glass.
No one said it, but they all wondered what could have knocked it over.
***
The house sold quickly.
As they were packing Ivan found an old dented toy car, and a cheap, plastic Ouija board.
He threw them away.
***
On move out day they kept misplacing things, and then finding them again in odd places.
“It’s almost like the house doesn’t want us to leave,” laughed Ivan’s sister.
Ivan ignored the comment.
***
They moved into an apartment. Ivan was 14.
He stopped having the dreams.
Eventually he stopped thinking about them.
He didn’t think about them again for another 12 years.
NEXT CHAPTER: Here
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character(s) or Pairing(s): (eventual) Russia/China
Rating: PG-13
Warnings for chapter: mentioned, non-graphic death and vulgar language.
Summary: Ghosts aren't real. Ivan keeps telling himself that. Ghosts aren't real.
Notes: A ghost story. WIP. Human AU. Finally posting it to LJ. Inspired by the song Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men.
Can also be read on FF.net
1.
Ivan used to dream a man was sitting on his chest.
When the man was there he could not move or open his eyes despite any effort he made, but he knew the man was there.
He could not see this man, but he would whisper to him, not with voice or language, but into his mind directly.
Take me home, the man would whisper. Please, I want to go home.
Ivan would always wake up after that.
***
When it first happened Ivan had been about 8 years old, and he had told his older sister over breakfast the next day.
“You know,” said his sister. “Some legends say when a spirit sits on your chest you can’t move.”
Since Ivan was just a child, he had not listened.
***
“Damn this old house,” his father said in thickly accented English, through puffs of cigar smoke that always clung to him like a cloud. “Fucking noisy.”
Ivan had nodded absentmindedly and continued to watch his cartoon. Their house was noisy. It was old and creaked at odd times. Ivan liked it though.
He liked it better than the feint memory he had of their apartment back in Russia, which had been simultaneously too small and too lonely.
But they were in America now, they had immigrated for their father’s work, and they had been able to buy a house big enough for Ivan, his papa and both his sisters.
(It would have been big enough for a mama too. She didn’t exist though, so Ivan didn’t dwell too much on that.)
Ivan didn’t mind if the stairs creaked sometimes, even when no one was walking on them.
At least he never felt lonely when he was in this house.
***
Take me home whispered the man. Please, please.
***
The house had a great big staircase, that Ivan would play at the top of sometimes with the toy cars big sister got him for his birthday.
He would have liked to have played with other children, but Natalia was still too little, big sister was too old, and none of the boys in his neighborhood wanted to be friends. It was alright though. He could play alone, he was good at it.
Big sister always told him to put up his cars when he was finished, and Papa would cough and say something along the lines of “Someone’s going to break their neck on those damn things Ivan.”
He usually did. Sometimes he forgot.
He forgot once when he was nine, and one toy car, a red Italian model the name of which Ivan couldn’t remember, was left on the second step from the top.
That was the car Ivan stepped on that evening, just before the sun finished setting while climbing the stairs to go get ready for bed.
Predictably the car had slipped out from under him taking his legs with it, and for one terrifying instant he was falling backwards, and he was going to hit the stairs and someone’s going to break their neck and-
And a hand, firm and warm wrapped around Ivan’s and he was pulled back up and onto the top step, his knees banging painfully against the wood, but his neck decidedly intact.
Ivan’s hands hit the hardwood of the floor, and he looked behind him, at the toy car that had fallen halfway down the stairs and had an impressive dent in the metal.
Then he looked forward.
No one was there, no one to grab his hand and save him. Suddenly Ivan started crying, out of pain or fear or confusion he knew not.
He didn’t know who could have grabbed his hand.
He didn’t know what could have grabbed his hand.
But he was safe, he was alive.
“Thank you,” he choked out through tears, because he was thankful.
He wondered if whatever it was heard him.
***
When Ivan was 12 he bought a Ouija Board and put it in the middle of his room, placing his hands on it.
“What was it that pulled me up the stairs when I was nine?” he asked the board.
No answer.
“Is anyone here?” he asked.
No answer. Plastic stayed stationary on the board.
(He still had his dreams though. He wanted to help the man get home, he really did.)
***
“The only bad thing,” his sister would complain sometimes, “is how draughty this house is. Sometimes it will be in the middle of a hot day and I’ll hit a chilly patch. I swear, I think that’s why papa coughs all the time.”
Ivan had never noticed. It was always chilly to him.
***
“Hey freakshow!” shouted one of the boys in Ivan’s neighborhood. “How’s the weather up there?”
Ivan ignored him like he alway did. At age 13 he already towered over the other boys, even the boys harassing him at the moment, who were a year older than him. It was funny, in a way. He had always been the small until he was about 10, and he had been teased for that too.
It didn’t matter much to him. He could ignore them. He focused instead on the contents of the white plastic bag in his hands. He had just bought a new model plane kit, some sort of American fighter jet. Model planes were his new hobby. When he worked on them his sister didn’t ask him why he wasn’t out playing with the other boys.
“Hey Ivan, how’s that sister of yours?”
Ivan ignored them. Maybe he could start on the plane right when he got home.
“Man, have you seen the knockers on that chick? I’d like to get me some of that!”
Ivan’s grip tightened around the bag, and his jaw clenched. Was it his turn to do the dishes that night? He hoped it wasn’t. He didn’t have homework tonight, so maybe he could get some real progress in with the construction...
“Hey freak, do you think your sister likes it up the ass?”
The box hit the ground as Ivan whirled around and lunged at the boy.
***
Later that night his big sister cried. “How could you fight Ivan! You’re such a sweet boy, why would you do that?”
Ivan said nothing and continued to nurse his throbbing eye. It was not so bad. The other boy had run away with a broken nose and a chipped tooth, and his friend with a cut on the back of his head where he had fallen to the pavement.
“What if you had really hurt them Ivan? Their parents are threatening to sue, and you know we can’t afford that right now, not with father!”
Ivan scowled. “I had to fight them.”
“Why? Why did you have too?”
Ivan did not answer.
His sister sighed. “I’m going to have to tell father, Ivan.”
“No you don’t.”
“Ivan-”
“You’re always saying how we shouldn’t stress him because he’s sick. This would just stress him out.”
She didn’t say anything. But she never said anything in regards to papa’s illness. The doctor had used a lot of words, words like carcinoma, and malignant, and maybe a year.
She never said anything.
Ivan stood and went to his room, locking himself inside.
The plane kit had been crushed during the fight, but Ivan refused to cry. He laid down on his bed and stared up at his ceiling, focusing on nothing but the ache of his bruised eye.
That night he dreamed his head was lying in someone’s lap and they were stroking his hair, comforting him.
***
His father died a few weeks later.
They never told him about the cause of Ivan’s black eye.
He never asked.
***
Natalia slept in the same bed as Ivan for a month or so after papa died.
Ivan had no dreams when she was in bed with him, and he felt much warmer than he normally did.
Ivan chose to believe it was just the shared body warmth of his sister pressed up against him, trying not to cry.
***
He started looking for a job. His sister couldn’t take care of them all on her own.
He was too young for a legal job, but he was tall enough to lie.
He stopped paying any attention to his dreams.
***
“I think we need to move,” said his big sister in a very serious voice.
Ivan felt a pain in his chest, but it was little Natalia that yelped “Why?”
“It’s too expensive... We can’t keep up with the payments, and this is an expensive neighborhood...”
Natalia looked like she was about to throw a fit. Ivan just felt numb. This was the only place that had ever really felt like home. This was the only place he never felt alone.
Suddenly, across the room, a glass fell off the countertop and shattered forcefully on the ground. They all jumped and were left staring at the glass.
No one said it, but they all wondered what could have knocked it over.
***
The house sold quickly.
As they were packing Ivan found an old dented toy car, and a cheap, plastic Ouija board.
He threw them away.
***
On move out day they kept misplacing things, and then finding them again in odd places.
“It’s almost like the house doesn’t want us to leave,” laughed Ivan’s sister.
Ivan ignored the comment.
***
They moved into an apartment. Ivan was 14.
He stopped having the dreams.
Eventually he stopped thinking about them.
He didn’t think about them again for another 12 years.
NEXT CHAPTER: Here