Twists and Turns.
Style: School AU drabble | Pairing: RussiaxAmerica / AmericaxRussia | Warnings: On this chapter language and some implications but rating will go up.
Summary: This is a continuation to How things turn.
Turns of life with the frustration of an blond american and the falling life of his friend. How a devoted friend tries to save another from himself with his friendship.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of his characters. If I did I would do a very smutty cosplay scene of this pair for the fans~
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Before reading notes:
This is a continuation to the story 'How things turn'.
Here Alfred finds Ivan and tries to help due to respect to their previous friendship but realises their sour relationship may had become sour for unsuspected reasons at the time. He still cares deeply for his friend and tries to help with renewed vigour but Ivan being a stubborn man refuses.
With a bit of persuasion and a few past ghosts resolved Ivan allows Alfred to help just for one night leaving on the next day. Alfred becomes frustrated with Ivan and Ivan simply admits that he wanted more with Alfred than friendship and that's the reason he can't even think about Alfred helping.
It's an infuriating and frustrating situation because Ivan doesn't have where to stay and Alfred really wants to help and restart their friendship.
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''Ivan Braginsky.''
''Ivan Braginsky.''
''Ivan… '' a sigh escaped his pearl chapped lips as he looked up to the green leaves of the tree. Ivan really tried to see something but he saw nothing on the name. Shouldn't the name of a person characterize who you are or at least give you some feeling or realisation knowing that is yours?
His own name doesn't make sense but all the other 'words' his father said make for some reason. Somehow his mind found it fitting.
He mouthed the name again and gave up mouthing it. It's empty. It has no sounding, no feeling around him.
Every artists name has a royal and exquisite sound right? Maybe that's why he is no meant to do what he loves most in life.
He looked to the leaves and thought for a moment how that would be a good sketch… If he had at least the materials he would make a rough sketch but he is sitting on the bench with empty hands so he grabbed his scarf and played with the frayed ends of it.
He has to go home, fetch his things and try to avoid his father but he feels heavy. Heavier than he already is which is saying something, he is not little and small at all.
Is this how dead weights feel like? He guesses he has been feeling like that for a while now.
He looked down to the green grass and tilted his head. Why did Alfred care so much?, they were not even on good terms any more and Alfred made sure to let him know he wouldn't have anything to do with him again. Maybe it was pity… He hates that feeling. But he simply gave a sigh in nostalgia reminding himself that he was once his only friend, his everything… How foolish he was. And he didn't even know at the time.
He touched his sore and tender side and flinched. It hurts a bit and he knows he will have to say goodbye to his favourite coat. It's all ripped and bloodied, disgusting.
Fitting…
He looked up and inhaled a breath. Time to go.
He needs to go to his house and try to take a few things with him, especially his savings. Hopefully his father haven't found them and used them for whatever he does with the money. Possibly gaming and drinking he guesses.
The walks home was heavy and filled with hesitation but he walked with a raised head, ignoring the stares caused by his ripped clothes, and soon was right in front of his father house.
The beautifully fading yard was filled with leaves and the grass was wet making his steps splash a bit. He grabbed his keys and shivered before inserting the right key on the key-hole. Please don't be here…
The house was empty. All the broken and ripped things were still filling the ground and he avoided them to keep the deathly silence. Silence was much better than the screams of the last night though.
He glanced at the broken table that made his side bruise and glared. He never liked that table. Then he walked slowly to his destroyed room.
Once he got there he stopped near the entrance gazing the bedroom with pain and sadness.
The walls were filled with hand-made red prints. His blood hand prints and he ignored them for the sake of looking to the ground. His ripped and destroyed sketches filled that same ground, years of work, dedication and love destroyed in less than an hour.
A sickening wave of nausea filled his mouth and he did his best to swallow the grim taste.
His work, his love, his dreams all shattered through that ground. The same ground where his mother said that 'one day he would be great' and she was proud of him, the same ground where he, Joseph Braginsky, shoved him to the ground and kicked him yelling how disgusting and sick he was. He even spit on his face yelling how much of a men whore he was… He wonders what is father would do if he knew what Katyusha does every Friday nigh… Perhaps nothing because he likes her and she is straight!
His hands made fists and his eyes stung, that bastard. He is sure his father never liked him but he never cared much until he said those things. He tried everything to be a good boy, person and young adult. Everything to make him proud and nothing worked.
Since he started develop a love affair with art he took refuge on that and dreamt with a life of art, beauty and love around him. Art makes everything much prettier even on the most dark things and gross things where no one else sees it. He sees it; he sees beauty on death, vomit or even smashed painted bugs.
He knelt on the ground and grabbed a piece of paper. Blue and brownish colours and he knew exactly which drawing it was. The colours of a broken piano with a murdered pianist bending on it as a man cried over him. Love devotion and loss were the subjects and he made it for a text his little sister made. She was an amazing writer.
His tastes were very diverse but he used to do more surrealist, realism and gore work. Disturbing images were his signature and for some reason they were very captivating and engaging. He also loved to work with nature and around the others he stuck with that because people sometimes started rumours knowing what he sketched but his personal sketchbooks were filled with gore and surrealist work. Even is trail of though was different but he never found it a problem until his father started saying he was 'schizophrenic'. Ivan was sure he was not mentally ill but his father made sure to make him believe on that sometimes.
He laughed bitterly as a few tears threatened to spill through his face and he stood up looking at the broken computer and drawing materials. His dreams may be shattered but he can still save a few pencils.
He walked to the dresser and took an orange sleeve shirt and some black pants changing into them quickly. Soon he grabbed another brown coat, this time a few shades darker and placed it on the trash filled bed, not even worrying about the things there.
He grabbed his school bag; a long used one because he simply used a portfolio now at school, and started putting clothes there. Underwear, a few shirts, a few pants and another pair of shoes above the little drawing materials he was able to safe and he was ready to go.
He walked to his 'secret' place and took the little box finding it empty. He sighed and opened the base of the box taking a few bills. At least he had the minimum money to survive a week.
He was rearranging and looking once again at the ruined works on the ground when a soft knock took him from his soft gazing hardening his amethyst eyes.
''Brother…'' a whimpering voice said and he looked to the concerned eyes of his biggest sister, who did nothing to stop his father.
He swallowed the hurt and betrayal and kept his gaze levelled on her face.
''Don't leave, please. Father never meant it…'' she started as tears ran through her face and he gave a little giggle. How does she dare?
''Of course he meant it sister. He meant every words yes? How filthy I am,'' he started walking to her and she shrank in fear, '' how disgusting and shameful to his family I am… How I would be better under the ground instead of mother…'' he said sweetly and she cried harder biting her lip to swallow the whimpers and sobs and he stopped right in front of her.
''How I should announce the world how I am meant to be a failure and a queer.'' Ivan swallowed hard and dry and she rested her forehead on his chest making him hug her closing his eyes trying to ignore the much worse things he said in front of her sisters. Disgusting and shameful things that, no one should say to someone else.
''I don't think like him brother.'' She murmured swallowing her sobs and he flinched, lies.
''Why haven't you stepped then?'' he asked and she cried harder again.
''I was afraid, brother… Oh God, he wanted to kill you!'' He opened his eyes and sighed. He loved her too dearly to stay mad at her but he can't forgive her quite yet.
Ivan kissed her head giving her a last hug and freed himself from her gentle and needy grip.
''I won't come back.'' He warned and she nodded opening her mouth and looking at the corner of the bedroom.
He simply shook his head and walked from her.
''I know he took it but I still have a few savings, do not worry.''
She nodded and he grabbed the schoolbag lacing it on his shoulders as a young collegial boy again. She cleared her face with her hands but tears kept falling and he walked away with a last kiss on her cheek. He will miss her.
.O.
Alfred ignored the ranting of his brother.
His brother was worried and wanted to know what happened but he simply sighed and places the little sunflower sketch on the middle of his underwear drawer. He was going to place it with the portrait but his brother was there and he didn't want him to read what was on the back of the drawing.
He trusted Matthew but he didn't want to hear the 'I told you so' of his brother. It was very annoying.
Alfred knows Ivan is frustrating and infuriating but he can't stop caring. A hero doesn't simply abandon his friends because they are difficult.
A worried feeling took place and he started wonder if he will be alright. He can't shake the bad feeling he has but he will try to talk Ivan to senses. He will help!
Notes: Next chapter. Ivan's search for life.
This will take many twists and turns of life and as I stated on the 'How things turn' two shot this will pass through some heavy content.
I will warn now: Prostitution, drug mentions, alcohol and sex problems will be portrayed. As things will develop I'll warn.
This will have explicit innuendoes and mainly frustration from Alfred side and lost feelings from Ivan.
It may be confusing but I'll try to make things bearable and not so dramatic. Things may end in a good way, who knows?
This is simply the first chapter and the continuation to 'How things turned' so stay tuned.
I decided to keep the other as a two shot 'cause people may not enjoy this continuation and I didn't want to ruin that baby.
Author Note: This Ivan is very personal. His love affair with art and beauty are very dear to me 'cause are my visions. His most deep fears and emotional problems are mine too so I feel very hesitant and fearful writing this story. I'm a very twisted person… Well, I think I'm revealing much more than I should with this even turning it into a story that perhaps has nothing to do with my life or how I would act facing the same options. Perhaps I would, who knows.
Please contain the hate towards this Ivan for the sake of the author.
I am a bit of a confusing person so I could never be Ivan or other character, we are all different and there's not a fictional or real person that will be like us but I find it interesting how some things that are very dear and close to us can make a story and turn it into so many things.
I'm sure we all putt a bit of ourselves on our stories so I think there's not much hate about the character. Towards the story, perhaps so just review! *laughs*
Thanks for reading.
Please review and let your thoughts be known!