(APH fanfic) Constraints, part 2
Title: Constraints
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Main Character: Russia
Warning(s): non-con/rape
( Part One)
Silence followed Ivan's exit. None of the Nations were quite sure what to make of that speech for a long moment, then the room erupted in a confused babble.
“You don't think maybe he-”
“No, it's, like, totally a joke, there's no way-”
“Maybe we shouldn't-”
“The nerve of that guy-”
“He's right about him being a monster, though-”
“Karma sucks, right?”
“Karma was invented in Korea, and this is definitely-”
“Ve, Ludwig, do you think-”
“I mean, who would be strong enough to-”
“It's not like he can't defend himself, he's good at hurting people-”
“Really, it's none of our business-”
More than a dozen conversations clashed and overlapped, filling the room with voices competing to be heard. There was only one exception to the conversation, and no one noticed his silence until Alfred stood, picked up his chair, and threw it against the wall. It splintered and shattered into pieces, stunning everyone in the room, and they all turned to stare at him.
“You're all a bunch of assholes.” He said, glaring at the rest of the assembly. “Every last one of you, and I'm ashamed to admit I know you at all, much less that some of you are my allies. This isn't a goddamn joke, and I'd like everyone who's talking about divine justice and karma to shoot themselves in the foot, 'cause Lithuania lost his virginity to me, thank you very fucking much.”
With that, he stalked across the room, shoving aside anyone who didn't get out of the way fast enough, and slammed the door behind him.
Alfred found Ivan in an empty meeting hall, curled up in a far corner and sobbing into his scarf. The towering Russian didn't respond to his name being called, or to Alfred squatting next to him, and his reaction to being touched was disheartening- he choked on his sobs, going completely limp, not moving except for a faint tremble running through his body.
But his eyes... his eyes were the worst, and told Alfred all he needed to know. They were wide, glazed over with fear, and unfocused, staring into space, as if what he'd see in reality was just too horrible to force himself to look. Alfred drew back, closing his own eyes until he stopped wanting to break things. Ivan didn't need anger, he needed help.
The rumor had apparently started with Arthur, so Arthur could be the one to help fix the damage.
Alfred stood regretfully, hesitating a moment, then took off his bomber jacket and draped it over Ivan's shoulders before turning and running out of the room.
Alfred returned to the main hall, and found Arthur chatting casually with Feliciano about something unimportant. He grabbed the man's arm, dragging him out of his seat without explanation, and hauled him towards the door. No one seemed to want to interfere right now, and Arthur was no match for Alfred's strength- he was dragged down the hall despite all his protesting and fighting, into another room, and shoved at Ivan, almost falling on top of the man.
“Help me get him up.” Alfred ordered flatly, kneeling beside Ivan and touching his shoulder.
Ivan went limp again, whimpering pathetically this time, and Alfred glanced up at Arthur.
“Don't just stand there and gape, asshole- help him, like you should have yesterday.”
Both of them together managed to lift Ivan and support him out of the hall and back to the hotel where he was staying. They got him settled as comfortably as possible, then Alfred literally kicked Arthur out, leaving a boot print on the back of Arthur's jacket and a bruise on his face from hitting the wall.
Alfred was very, very pissed. Not just at his fellow Nations and their high-handed, smugly superior, absolutely inexcusably cruel treatment of Ivan, but also at whoever had brought him to the point where he'd make himself so vulnerable for the sake of getting help.
He dragged a chair next to the bed and made himself comfortable. Those assholes could do whatever the hell they wanted, but even if no one else was going to believe Ivan and help him, Alfred was. Heroes just did not let this shit go.
Ivan didn't sleep for long- he was awake after about an hour, his eyes wide and frightened again, but thankfully focused on reality.
“You okay, big guy?” Alfred asked, smiling, and Ivan nodded slowly. “Good. Look, I'd like to apologize on behalf of all those idiots back there.”
Ivan tried to smile, but wound up looking like he was about to cry again. “It is of no moment.” He said. “I should not have expected-”
“Yes, you damned well should have.” Alfred interrupted, his anger bubbling to the surface. “Who the hell are they to cast moral judgment on you? If you're being hurt, especially like this, you deserve to be helped. You deserve to be believed and protected.”
Ivan shook his head, curling up more under the blankets. “No, no, they are right- a monster deserves such punishment. I will be fine.”
“You're going crazy, Ivan. I've seen this happen before, I know what going crazy looks like, and you won't be fine. I bet just one more time will make you snap, won't it?”
Ivan shook his head again, shrinking back when Alfred growled and kicked the bed.
“Who is it? Mr. I'm-the-fucking-United-Kingdom-and-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-about-anyone-else didn't choose to share that with the rest of us.”
Ivan hesitated a long moment, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally whispering, “A Nation cannot harm his people.”
Ivan slept restlessly that night- he dreamed of being pursued through a blizzard by something huge, evil, and unstoppable. He came across people in the midst of the storm, but none of them could hear him over the howling wind, and none of them would help him, so he kept running. He could feel the cliff ahead- if he could make it to the cliff, jump from it, the evil chasing him would not be able to follow. Beyond the cliff, he would be safe.
He woke to find his cheeks wet with tears, his pillow soaked with them, and Alfred asleep, slumped in the chair beside the bed. It was warm in the room, and Ivan was still fully dressed, but he shook with the remembered cold of his dream as he sat up, drying his eyes.
He did not want to return to Russia, though he could feel his people calling for him. The evil in his dream had been Stalin, he was sure, and he feared the blessing of true insanity that would be his only refuge even as he craved it.
Eventually, with the light of dawn filtering through the flimsy hotel curtains, Ivan drifted off to sleep again.
Alfred woke with a neckache. Small wonder, since he'd spent all night sleeping in a chair. Also, his back hurt and he had a headache. But Ivan seemed to be sleeping okay, so he smiled and stood and stretched quietly before slipping out of the room.
Arthur was waiting uncomfortably in the hall, shifting from foot to foot and looking like he'd rather be naked and tied to Francis's bed than here.
“How... how is he?” He asked quietly, not meeting Alfred's eyes.
“As well as can be expected, considering he's been raped by one of his own citizens and you spread that fact around like it's fucking funny.”
Arthur at least had the decency to wince. “It's... not a citizen, Alfred.” He said after a moment, biting his lip and averting his eyes. “It's his... his boss.”
Alfred stared at him for a long moment, face blank, before backhanding him into the wall.
“You absolute ass.” He snarled, glaring down at Arthur. “I swear to fucking God, when I'm done with Stalin, I'm coming after you.”
Arthur, who'd collided with the wall and collapsed to the floor, said nothing, not even lifting a hand to his throbbing red cheek. He simply sat there as Alfred turned and stalked away.
Ivan didn't return to Russia, after all. Not immediately, at least. Instead, he found himself bundled off to Arthur's house, because according to Alfred, “anyone with half a brain would look for you at my place, but no one would expect Arthur to take you in, right?”
And surprisingly, Arthur seemed to believe now. A man such as Arthur would not apologize, not with words, but his actions spoke loudly enough. His belief was evident in the careful way he touched Ivan, when touch was necessary. The way he spoke softly, the quiet compassion in his eyes, even his attempts to draw Ivan into conversation, awkward though they were.
But Ivan was content, because there was no Stalin here to haunt him, and he was warm. He saw no one but Arthur and occasionally Alfred. There was no window and he was not allowed to leave the room, and Arthur's cooking was terrible and tasteless, but Ivan did not mind in the least. He ate the bland meals he was provided, wished they were made as well as the tea he was given to drink, and let time pass without even attempting to keep track of it.
He came to enjoy Arthur's company, something he doubted either of them had imagined in their wildest daydreams. The two shared common interest in books and folklore, as well as chess. Ivan wouldn't go so far as to term what was between them friendship, but he gradually began to feel less and less as though they were enemies, until Arthur could smile and he could smile back with ease.
It could have been a year, a century, a month, before Alfred appeared one day and smiled at him.
“You can go home, Ivan.” The blond said. “Stalin croaked. He's dead.”
Ivan stared at him for a long moment, and Alfred met his gaze unwaveringly, his every fiber radiating sincerity.
“How?” He found the wit to ask.
“The doctors say a stroke.” Alfred said with a wink. “And hey, maybe they're right. Or maybe not.” He took Ivan's hand, pulling him to his feet, and hugged him gently.
“If they are wrong?” Ivan asked, shivering, daring to believe. Humans died. Stalin was not immortal, so he might really be gone. Ivan might truly be free of him.
“Well,” Alfred said, leading him out of the room, hand holding his gently. “A Nation can't harm his people and all, but Stalin sure as hell wasn't one of my people.”
Ivan blinked, then smiled. He felt as though he hadn't smiled in decades. He smiled, and gently squeezed Alfred's hand, surprised and gratified when his fellow Nation squeezed back, tossing an answering smile over his shoulder.
A Nation cannot harm his people. When it comes to the demons of other Nations, however, they suffer under no such constraints.
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Main Character: Russia
Warning(s): non-con/rape
( Part One)
Silence followed Ivan's exit. None of the Nations were quite sure what to make of that speech for a long moment, then the room erupted in a confused babble.
“You don't think maybe he-”
“No, it's, like, totally a joke, there's no way-”
“Maybe we shouldn't-”
“The nerve of that guy-”
“He's right about him being a monster, though-”
“Karma sucks, right?”
“Karma was invented in Korea, and this is definitely-”
“Ve, Ludwig, do you think-”
“I mean, who would be strong enough to-”
“It's not like he can't defend himself, he's good at hurting people-”
“Really, it's none of our business-”
More than a dozen conversations clashed and overlapped, filling the room with voices competing to be heard. There was only one exception to the conversation, and no one noticed his silence until Alfred stood, picked up his chair, and threw it against the wall. It splintered and shattered into pieces, stunning everyone in the room, and they all turned to stare at him.
“You're all a bunch of assholes.” He said, glaring at the rest of the assembly. “Every last one of you, and I'm ashamed to admit I know you at all, much less that some of you are my allies. This isn't a goddamn joke, and I'd like everyone who's talking about divine justice and karma to shoot themselves in the foot, 'cause Lithuania lost his virginity to me, thank you very fucking much.”
With that, he stalked across the room, shoving aside anyone who didn't get out of the way fast enough, and slammed the door behind him.
Alfred found Ivan in an empty meeting hall, curled up in a far corner and sobbing into his scarf. The towering Russian didn't respond to his name being called, or to Alfred squatting next to him, and his reaction to being touched was disheartening- he choked on his sobs, going completely limp, not moving except for a faint tremble running through his body.
But his eyes... his eyes were the worst, and told Alfred all he needed to know. They were wide, glazed over with fear, and unfocused, staring into space, as if what he'd see in reality was just too horrible to force himself to look. Alfred drew back, closing his own eyes until he stopped wanting to break things. Ivan didn't need anger, he needed help.
The rumor had apparently started with Arthur, so Arthur could be the one to help fix the damage.
Alfred stood regretfully, hesitating a moment, then took off his bomber jacket and draped it over Ivan's shoulders before turning and running out of the room.
Alfred returned to the main hall, and found Arthur chatting casually with Feliciano about something unimportant. He grabbed the man's arm, dragging him out of his seat without explanation, and hauled him towards the door. No one seemed to want to interfere right now, and Arthur was no match for Alfred's strength- he was dragged down the hall despite all his protesting and fighting, into another room, and shoved at Ivan, almost falling on top of the man.
“Help me get him up.” Alfred ordered flatly, kneeling beside Ivan and touching his shoulder.
Ivan went limp again, whimpering pathetically this time, and Alfred glanced up at Arthur.
“Don't just stand there and gape, asshole- help him, like you should have yesterday.”
Both of them together managed to lift Ivan and support him out of the hall and back to the hotel where he was staying. They got him settled as comfortably as possible, then Alfred literally kicked Arthur out, leaving a boot print on the back of Arthur's jacket and a bruise on his face from hitting the wall.
Alfred was very, very pissed. Not just at his fellow Nations and their high-handed, smugly superior, absolutely inexcusably cruel treatment of Ivan, but also at whoever had brought him to the point where he'd make himself so vulnerable for the sake of getting help.
He dragged a chair next to the bed and made himself comfortable. Those assholes could do whatever the hell they wanted, but even if no one else was going to believe Ivan and help him, Alfred was. Heroes just did not let this shit go.
Ivan didn't sleep for long- he was awake after about an hour, his eyes wide and frightened again, but thankfully focused on reality.
“You okay, big guy?” Alfred asked, smiling, and Ivan nodded slowly. “Good. Look, I'd like to apologize on behalf of all those idiots back there.”
Ivan tried to smile, but wound up looking like he was about to cry again. “It is of no moment.” He said. “I should not have expected-”
“Yes, you damned well should have.” Alfred interrupted, his anger bubbling to the surface. “Who the hell are they to cast moral judgment on you? If you're being hurt, especially like this, you deserve to be helped. You deserve to be believed and protected.”
Ivan shook his head, curling up more under the blankets. “No, no, they are right- a monster deserves such punishment. I will be fine.”
“You're going crazy, Ivan. I've seen this happen before, I know what going crazy looks like, and you won't be fine. I bet just one more time will make you snap, won't it?”
Ivan shook his head again, shrinking back when Alfred growled and kicked the bed.
“Who is it? Mr. I'm-the-fucking-United-Kingdom-and-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-about-anyone-else didn't choose to share that with the rest of us.”
Ivan hesitated a long moment, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally whispering, “A Nation cannot harm his people.”
Ivan slept restlessly that night- he dreamed of being pursued through a blizzard by something huge, evil, and unstoppable. He came across people in the midst of the storm, but none of them could hear him over the howling wind, and none of them would help him, so he kept running. He could feel the cliff ahead- if he could make it to the cliff, jump from it, the evil chasing him would not be able to follow. Beyond the cliff, he would be safe.
He woke to find his cheeks wet with tears, his pillow soaked with them, and Alfred asleep, slumped in the chair beside the bed. It was warm in the room, and Ivan was still fully dressed, but he shook with the remembered cold of his dream as he sat up, drying his eyes.
He did not want to return to Russia, though he could feel his people calling for him. The evil in his dream had been Stalin, he was sure, and he feared the blessing of true insanity that would be his only refuge even as he craved it.
Eventually, with the light of dawn filtering through the flimsy hotel curtains, Ivan drifted off to sleep again.
Alfred woke with a neckache. Small wonder, since he'd spent all night sleeping in a chair. Also, his back hurt and he had a headache. But Ivan seemed to be sleeping okay, so he smiled and stood and stretched quietly before slipping out of the room.
Arthur was waiting uncomfortably in the hall, shifting from foot to foot and looking like he'd rather be naked and tied to Francis's bed than here.
“How... how is he?” He asked quietly, not meeting Alfred's eyes.
“As well as can be expected, considering he's been raped by one of his own citizens and you spread that fact around like it's fucking funny.”
Arthur at least had the decency to wince. “It's... not a citizen, Alfred.” He said after a moment, biting his lip and averting his eyes. “It's his... his boss.”
Alfred stared at him for a long moment, face blank, before backhanding him into the wall.
“You absolute ass.” He snarled, glaring down at Arthur. “I swear to fucking God, when I'm done with Stalin, I'm coming after you.”
Arthur, who'd collided with the wall and collapsed to the floor, said nothing, not even lifting a hand to his throbbing red cheek. He simply sat there as Alfred turned and stalked away.
Ivan didn't return to Russia, after all. Not immediately, at least. Instead, he found himself bundled off to Arthur's house, because according to Alfred, “anyone with half a brain would look for you at my place, but no one would expect Arthur to take you in, right?”
And surprisingly, Arthur seemed to believe now. A man such as Arthur would not apologize, not with words, but his actions spoke loudly enough. His belief was evident in the careful way he touched Ivan, when touch was necessary. The way he spoke softly, the quiet compassion in his eyes, even his attempts to draw Ivan into conversation, awkward though they were.
But Ivan was content, because there was no Stalin here to haunt him, and he was warm. He saw no one but Arthur and occasionally Alfred. There was no window and he was not allowed to leave the room, and Arthur's cooking was terrible and tasteless, but Ivan did not mind in the least. He ate the bland meals he was provided, wished they were made as well as the tea he was given to drink, and let time pass without even attempting to keep track of it.
He came to enjoy Arthur's company, something he doubted either of them had imagined in their wildest daydreams. The two shared common interest in books and folklore, as well as chess. Ivan wouldn't go so far as to term what was between them friendship, but he gradually began to feel less and less as though they were enemies, until Arthur could smile and he could smile back with ease.
It could have been a year, a century, a month, before Alfred appeared one day and smiled at him.
“You can go home, Ivan.” The blond said. “Stalin croaked. He's dead.”
Ivan stared at him for a long moment, and Alfred met his gaze unwaveringly, his every fiber radiating sincerity.
“How?” He found the wit to ask.
“The doctors say a stroke.” Alfred said with a wink. “And hey, maybe they're right. Or maybe not.” He took Ivan's hand, pulling him to his feet, and hugged him gently.
“If they are wrong?” Ivan asked, shivering, daring to believe. Humans died. Stalin was not immortal, so he might really be gone. Ivan might truly be free of him.
“Well,” Alfred said, leading him out of the room, hand holding his gently. “A Nation can't harm his people and all, but Stalin sure as hell wasn't one of my people.”
Ivan blinked, then smiled. He felt as though he hadn't smiled in decades. He smiled, and gently squeezed Alfred's hand, surprised and gratified when his fellow Nation squeezed back, tossing an answering smile over his shoulder.
A Nation cannot harm his people. When it comes to the demons of other Nations, however, they suffer under no such constraints.