Marilu, a hetalia - axis powers fanfic

"Be good here.

Please.

Just be good."

He first takes notice of him in the crowds.

And quite quickly though he should be distracted by his work – coming through the tent flaps with the others and his elder sister, all of them dressed in such brilliantly colored jumpsuits and dresses, faces painted white with rouged cheeks, shapes penciled over their eyes, and large red smiles drawn over their mouths. Their first job is to entertain the audience as the entire circus is introduced by their ring leader and manager, a older gentleman with broad shoulders framing his stocky build, his hair and even his moustache and slight beard have gone white with age.

They call him The General when not performing, and when they are, they do their job well lest they cross him and cause problems off stage.

So yes, he should be working, though perhaps it's because he performs differently than the others that causes him to open for distraction. Instead of the luminescent yellows and reds, or the stark oranges, purples, and greens the others wear, his own jumpsuit is made of drab blue fabric, a cotton blend that has lost its luster over the years. His over-sized shoes, the buttons adorning the front are black as coal, and the pleated collar around his neck and wrists are grey like fog. In lieu of small triangles under his eyes, or the more common large circle that covers entirely, they paint a large, fat teardrop under his left eye and an overly exaggerate frown in place of a smile.

He isn't permitted to be one of the "happy" clowns, all those who skip after one another and bring smiles to their patrons by first glance, not since the beginning of his career, in the late years of his childhood when The General had first taken him and sisters in from homelessness and poverty. That was long ago, however, and now for reasons he does not understand, the other performers do not like when he smiles. Even when away from the audience, when the make-up is off and they pack away their tents into the wagons so they may depart for their next destination, his preferred gesture of friendliness puts them all at unease.

His sisters do not explain why is this, they only create excuses and tell him it would be best to simply comply with their wishes. So he does, and there are instances where it becomes frustrating to him, always having to come into the tent last, being pushed to the side and made to wait. There are moments he resents his position, he wants to be the character to make people smile, to be the cause of their laughter, not the one that they pity.

Yet for this night, if only this night, he finds he can be thankful for being forced into this role.

It's most likely because he's the last to enter the striped tent where the main performances are held, moving slow and melancholic in contrast to the rest who bumble around to the music of their band, that has him spot the bright little bob of flaxen hair spun from gold sitting high in the stands, in one of the back rows of the audience.

Inconceivable, really, with this crowd being the largest they've seen in some time the probability of such a small child standing out amongst them should not be so high. Yet here he is, zeroing in on the small boy sitting away from him at such lengths while in the company of other children his age, even being able to decipher the tinkle of his laughter from the others at whatever it is that is happening just next to him. He moves with the group, appearing for all sake and purpose to be playing his part when in truth, his eyes never turn away from the boy. They keep him in sight, and at the display of such joy and youthful exuberance radiating from his small frame he takes a small chance to quirk a smile, so thrilled to see something so genuine.

And then it happens.

Two wide blue colored eyes, the same shade as the marble he keeps tucked away in his bunk in their wagon as a precious little keepsake of a life since passed, turn towards him and lock with his. It strikes something deep within him, something that has him freeze and feel as though the wind has been sucked right out of him. His character breaks, his eyes are larger due to the surprise and his mouth fall open if only slightly. The little boy blinks twice, as though trying to figure out the situation before throwing caution to the wind and smiling at him, even waving at him, taking notice of him in a way not many have ever before.

It stirs something inside of him. Something indescribable and near overwhelming. He's never felt this way, not even with the others; they've never filled him with so much warm feelings pooling in the pit of his belly that it has him think that this one is more special than those in the past and wonders if this is what his younger sister means when she tells him he makes her feel smitten as she climbs into his bunk.

He turns his eyes away from him after waving though, directing his attention to something more interesting no doubt, and in not wanting it to be so, he takes a few steps forward, almost outside of the ring when something smacks against his head and keeps him from progressing any further.

There's laughter, of course, and he turns to see what is the cause. It's his elder sister, blonde hair hidden by a pink wig-mop in her white and blue polka-dot dress and pink and white striped stockings. Her smile is gone, her mouth is turned downward and her eyes are filled with what could only be worry and he has the sense to feel ashamed. She knows, of course she does, and he knows she wishes that he would break the little bad habit of his.

He ducks his head, presses his hands to his eyes, and runs after the other clowns. She follows after him, roll of paper in her hand (newspaper, flyers, who knows) carried high in the air. The audience laughs. They think it's an act. They're safe for the moment.

When the performances finally begin to over take center stage and only a few of them are needed to roam, he keeps company with his sister on the side lines and watches. Not his makeshift family though, no. He can't keep his eyes away from the child sitting across the ring. Even as his younger sister enters for her knife exhibition, his attention dwindles from her to the blonde boy who claps and cheers. At one point he stands to applaud and it has him smile, an action that does not go by unnoticed.

His sister reaches for his hand, gathers his attention while she takes it into her and gives him a weak smile.

"Ivan," she says softly. "Go to the back and start on the balloons for the games later. Keep your hands busy. It will be good for you."

It's a familiar tactic, one that's used nearly ever place they've visited, but he will not deny its success. His mind may wander when performing tedious tasks, but having something to occupy himself with keeps thoughts from becoming actions. So, he breaks away from his sister's hold, takes one last look at his special child and slumps away. Shoulders folding forward and no gaiety in his step, eyes cast downward and mouth following the lines of his painted frown, he looks more in character than ever before and in it takes no pride. Before he leaves the tent, he dares to take another glance, and in doing so catches the child's eyes watching him, tiny brow furrowed and small mouth set in a straight line. He's caught by surprised once more and he wants to know why this boy looks this way, but he can feel his sister's eyes on him, and so instead, he faces forward and exits the tent.

Outside it's growing darker and colder, and looking skyward he sees the first batch of stars spotting the expanse of dark blue hanging above him while walking away from their largest tent to the smaller one his sisters and himself have set up as their temporary home and booth. His footsteps crunch under the dead grass and dirt paved walkways that have been trampled upon by so many in the period of their short stay, and when finally reaching the tent, instead of hiding away inside the confines bright red fabric, he brings his tools and props outside, props himself on an old crate and empties everything by tipping over the box holding them out onto the ground.

He begins his menial labor, determined to keep certain thoughts at bay and pays no real attention to anything that may be happening around him. Even as he does nothing more than fill different colors of balloons with his own air, he does not hear the small footsteps that walk around searchingly, and it comes at yet another surprise when he hears the voice of the one making the ruckus.

"Did they throw you out, mister? Is that why you're so sad?"

The balloon he is working on stutters and flies out of his grasp, his hands lose their grip and his lips part unexpectedly at seeing the person before him.

It's the same little boy, the sweet looking little child in the audience that has caught his eye. His bright baby-blues are even more so close up, with blonde hair falling just so in front of them, accompanied with pink cheeks flushed from the chill of evening air and a grin formed on his pouty lips. He can't help but internally wax some poetics as he's allowed to admire him from such a close distance.

He can not be more than ten, his small frame says as much, clad in brown cotton overalls and a white collar shirt that's beginning to look a bit dingy from so much use. His feet are bare, covered in soot and dirt, though whether because of a habit or poverty, he doesn't know.

Either way, he wants to take him into his arms and never let him go. Protect him from all the horror of the world. Just like with his mama.

"I saw when you left," the child goes on. "That pink clown lady told you to leave, huh? The one that hit you, I saw her do that and I laughed but I still didn't think it was nice."

He's not permitted to speak to guests, none of those in face pain are, and even he were, he doesn't suppose he would be able to find the words to reply. This has never happened before, even with the others, he's always been the one to seek them out for liberation, not one has ever come up to him. The warm feeling from before returns, and he's sure that if it weren't for the make-up caked on his face, he'd be wearing a healthy blush while watching the little boy in front of him keep talking.

"So I thought I'd be able to come out here and getcha to come back even if they did. 'Cause it's a circus and all and no one should be makin' anyone else feel like they ain't allowed to be there. You should be havin' fun with everyone else, bein' happy and such."

Oh, yes, he was right. This one is special, all sunshine and smiles. He's an absolute marvel, and he thinks this must be what being smitten is, this feeling of want. It makes him so sad and it must show, because now he expresses more concern and it's both wonderful and terrible to see such an expression on the boy's face.

"What's the matter, mister? Huh? You can tell me, I don't mind. Can'tcha talk?"

He shakes his head in the negative, eliciting a small pitying kind of sound. He finds he doesn't mind it so much, not this time.

"That's no fair. No wonder you're all sad and such." His bright eyes suddenly begin to blink rapidly, as though a thought has just crossed his mind. He breaks out into another grin and steps closer. "I know what'll cheer ya up!"

He reaches forward and falls into him, thin arms circling around his body and holding on tight. Yet another surprise, and again it catches him off guard. His own arms are frozen in midair and he does nothing more than stare at the top of blonde hair before it finally registers in his own mind as to what he is giving him. He returns the gesture cautiously at first, as though it's something too fragile for him to handle, and when his own arms finally circle around as well, it illuminates yet another unrecognizable emotion within him, overtaking him and choking him something wonderful.

There's no way, there is simply no way he is able to allow any of the grotesque things that plague their world and poison humanity to touch him, to ruin him surely if he were to grow older. This warm body pressing into his, arms wrapped around his torso as a blonde head pushes against his chest, he does not want it to change.

He does not want the heart beating next to his to ever grow cold as his father's did. Or as broken as his mama's. Or as sad as his elder sister's. Or as angry as his younger sister's. Or as lost as his own.

He wishes he could keep him with him, it would be so much nicer, but he knows that is not possible. So, with one free hand, and one kept around the child to keep him from suspecting, he grazes the ground around him, looking for any instrument to be an aid in this necessary act. His fingers brush along something cold and metallic, some form of pipe most likely. It's long and very blunt, and perfect.

He clutches onto him just a bit tighter. He knows it'll hurt at first, and he truly is sorry. It's the only way though, the only way to keep this boy happy, to not protect him from being tainted by all the wrong. They'll understand. They just have to understand. Oh, his elder sister will be so disappointed; she never did like the solution, even when mama asked it of him specifically.

He feels him pull away, and it takes a great deal to let go, to gather the strength that is needed to be the liberating savior this child deserves.

"There," he says to him, another smile gracing his face, making his cheeks plump and eyes narrow at the ends. "Mattie always says that my hugs can cheer up just about any-"

thwak

thump

thwak

splat

clank...

"Oh, Vanya.

Not again.

Oh, look at the mess you've made."

Disclaimer: There's a soundtrack on my profile.

-Does this count as horror? Does it qualify for an M rating? These are things I don't know…

-So I wrote a thing, this thing, for Halloween reasons. Because I heart Halloween. It is… the only holiday I look forward to. The presents from the Great Pumpkin, eating pumpkins, baking, giving presents, scary movies, and trick 'r treating.

-Homg, I can't wait to go trick 'r treating. ^-^

-But yeah… how was that? Honestly. I really do want feedback for this one and I'm not usually one to ask for it, but I do wanna know if it was any good. So yeah, I'd appreciate it if you guys lemme know.

-Anyway, peeps and homies who are waiting on Lullaby, next chapter is finished and ready to come out any time. I'm just having issues getting back the USB it's on because bitches be… bitches. But once that's cleared, we're gold.

-Until then though, that's all from me. Stay beautiful. Stay shiny. Mad love to the weirdoes and lovelies. xoxo