This is my first piece of work submitted to FanFiction but not my first fanfic by a long shot. I'm not sure about the rating, but since it has self mutilation, murder in the begining (of a non-country), and gore i figured Mature would be best.
Russia is my favourite character of hetalia and i was upset about all the fanfics where he was portrayed as someone evil. I won't say how i see him, as i hope my little fic will speak for itself. But i will say that each line of thoughts i imagined being 'said' withg a different type of voice for the character. If that doesn't make sense hopefully it will when you read on ^^
Warnings: Gore, Self-harm, Possibly bad grammar, Implied relationship of RoChu but nothing sexual or beyond friendship is mentioned.
Italics are thoughts.
I do not own hetalia, this is purely just for my own and others intrest which i make no profit from
Ivan is not insane.
-Whack. Whack. Whack-sh!-
Blood shivered down the metal object, clamped firmly in a leather-clad hand. A child-like grin spread across his face. Amethyst eyes hazed over, not quite there, not seeing the image before him, even as he hit and pounded his victim, soft tissue bursting, beautiful blood spraying into the snowy air.
After the horrid act had been committed he stumbled home, pipe in one hand, nearly empty bottle in the other. Throwing the bottle with a satisfying shatter he entered his foreboding home. A real smile reaching his cheeks as he saw a familiar Asian bopping around his kitchen, stirring and tasting different sizzling dishes.
Quickly, he discarded his forever-bloodstained trench coat and boots. Laying his lead pipe on a nearby table, countless amounts of splatter still clung helplessly to its form. Then, with a sweetness in his eyes that were only ever directed to the brunette awaiting him in the kitchen, Ivan shuffled into the dizzyingly warm room.
A scream split the air. It snapped Ivan back to reality, the nightmares, his past, fleeing from his eyes. A pair of wide caramel eyes stared up at him, pure innocence forever tainted by the droplets of blood on his cheeks and delicate nose. He sat on the floor, having just been thrown down. Ivan paused, in a brief moment of clarity, taking in everything. Night. Bedroom. Lead pipe on the floor. Thin razor in his hand. He collapsed onto his knees before the other man, who physically seemed relatively unharmed. He began to reach out with a free hand to cup the other's face, only to pause and follow the others gaze to his own arm. Shirtless, every scar on his pale ivory flesh was exposed, but his arm had fresh wounds. Self inflicted wounds.
His violet eyes stared at his right forearm, staring but not seeing. Shock rocked through his being, he threw down the razor he had clenched in his left hand. That hand bled now as well with criss-crossing lines
In the moonlight, all colour sucked from his body, white skin, silver hair, shimmering eyes which only colour was despair. Only blood coloured this monotone picture, deep slash marks on his right arm, blood still carrying itself to congeal the too deep wounds, red sprays flew across his abdomen and face, his pants also drenched in the life-fluid.
In a morbid sense, it was a beautifully haunting sight that plagued each of the Asian's senses. The sight of the blood, the smell of iron attacked his nostrils, vile putrid panic and his dinner clawing its way up his esophagus, he felt Ivan's trembling even from his seat a foot or two away, heard his ragged breathing, laboured gasps and silent screams.
Ivan shook violently, everything swirled around him, but he couldn't move, everything was still. He managed to face the other man, silvery violet eyes confused but understanding. Raw emotions emanated from his being.
He he! Look what you did look what you did!
Angry with yourself? You're worthless. Can't even kill a man without trying to do the same to yourself.
Jao Jao Jao Jao Jao Jao…
Look at the blood! Look how pretty it is! You look just like all those other-
You're gonna die. Look at yer arm.
With that thought he finally managed to focus on something. A blink, and he turned his deranged amethyst gaze to his arm, where as he immediately felt weaker, he looked down at his chest, then at the razor on the floor, finally meeting a panicked but concerned set of honey-warm eyes. He slowly inched towards the other man, a lost look much like that of a child's plastered onto his features.
"Jao…" his voice broke with a whimper, "d-did…Ivan do bad?" his hand brushed the other's, smearing blood over the smaller hand. "Ivan…didn't hurt Jao…did he?" Ivan brought both hands, tearing the fragile scabs that had already formed and wincing in pain, and cupped the round face before him.
You were asleep
Pipe-kun wouldn't do much good on yourself sillysilly
Brought the razor to your arm
You can't stand the monster inside you…Flowing in your veins…
But the bladeblade would make you look so prettypretty
It's in your very soul… The darkness in your heart… a monster that is… you
Deeper and deeper… but Jao will see
Redred like sunflowers in the sunrise so prettypretty
BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD DIE DIE DIE
Jao Jao Jao Jao Jao Jao
His lip trembled; the demons attacked his heart brutally. Digging claws deeper into his heart and soul more agonizingly painful than a razor, bullet, whip, pipe or any torture device had ever inflicted upon him. His heart was tearing itself apart, chest collapsing and bones cracking. Voices screamed at him, threatening to explode within his skull.
The nightmares returned to his eyes, a veil of pain shrouded his lavender eyes turning them into a wine as bitter as the vodka swill burning his stomach. He yelled incoherently in Russian, voice rising in octaves becoming childlike and then lowering deep and angry.
With a sudden clarity his expression became a scared child once again, pulling the smaller man closer to him. "J-jao…" said person reached out to Ivan, ignoring the blood and held the large man as much as his small frame would allow, whispering what he hoped were soothing words, bringing Ivan back out of his head, or at least scaring the visions away.
"J-jao…Ivan didn't hurt you…?" he whispered; clutching the other close with surprising strength considering the blood he lost.
"N-no…" he brought a hand up to the silver locks, unstained by the blood. "Yao was just scared… Ivan makes him worry…" he sighed, wondering if he should've said that. The possibility that it would set him off into another rage of self-mutilation made his breath hitch. He knew he could never unsee all of the sides of Ivan he had witnessed, the drunken rage, suicidal fits, childlike quivering, but he knew it might just break him if he was ever there or home or awake when one started, instead of being pulled into the end and climax as was what usually happened.
"…Mmphuh…" a muffled voice brought him back to the most pressing issue at hand. Looking at the shaking man he brought his face up to his, "What is it Ivan?" the Russian blinked once, his eyes slowly focusing and regular bright but shielded purple returning. He smiled, shutting them briefly, "Jao…will always be with me, Da?" The other smiled softly, "Yes…" a flicker passed over Ivan's eyes, changing them briefly into something else, something he couldn't quite place, "Jao won't leave me." He stated more than asked. The other man shivered slightly, the darkness in the other's eyes worrying him, but just as quickly as the shadow came, it has moved on, returning the eyes to a gentle stare. "I will always stay with you Ivan," he answered.
A cry of happiness erupted from the overgrown child, pulling the other into a hug as if there was no razor or bloodied pipe on the floor, glass broken or most of his own blood outside of his body rather than in his veins. The other tried to relax to the gruesome touch.
No. Ivan is not insane.
And that be the end Folks!
Thanks for reading~ I'd appreciate any comments even so much as saying you enjoyed it.
However saying it sucked without telling my WHY is not appreciated ^^;