1905
A/N: This is based on the Hetalia comic strip that dealt with the events of Bloody Sunday. I tried to make this accurate. It should be.
Historical Background: On January 22, 1905, (O.S. January 9th), in St. Petersburg, Russia, a group of unarmed demonstrators led by Father Georgy Gapon were fired upon by the Imperial Guard while marching towards the Winter Palace to present a petition to the Czar. Hundreds were killed, and the czar described the day as "painful and sad".
Russia watched hopelessly out the frosty window. The day was grim and grey, and the snow fell steadily against the ground. Protesting proletariat members were coming towards him. They were yelling angrily, voices scarcely muffled by the glass window that was far from sound-proof. Their angry Russian cries hurt his ears and he was afraid. He did not like that they were so upset with him. That they were yelling so loud and their glares were cold and unfriendly. It made him want to curl up in a corner, stay there and cry.
These were his people. His friends. But now they hated him. He had tried to do everything to make them happy. But yet they always ended up hating him, no matter what he did.
"Umm...M-Mr. Russia...it appears the czar is having tea in palace." That sweet voice. Lithuania's sweet little voice. A shame Russia had to hear it deliver bad news.
So he is doing nothing. Leaving me to fend for myself...
"I see..." That was all Russia could say.
"It's become rather serious...b-but I'm sure they'll all clear out by tomorrow." Lithuania continued.
Russia was not listening. "Why does it always end up like this?" The blonde asked, not turning his gaze from the window, "I have made this nation stronger and more prestigious than others all by myself...I...worked so hard." Tears threatened to spring from his sorrowful violet eyes. In fact they were stinging them at this moment.
The yelling and protesting continued outside.
"Why does nothing ever go right?...why do they always end up...hating me..." There was no stopping the tears now. They sprang from his eyes and he pressed his fists against the window, letting them flow down his face. And he cried, pitying himself.
"Everyone says it's my fault. My fault. My fault. I have endured this for centuries. Why can't everyone just get along nicely with each other..."
Tears pooled down his cheeks as he cried softly against the window, forced to listen to the protesting, enraged voices. He continued to cry. He wanted to cry forever. But he knew he could not. Because voices in the back of his head said:
How weak you are. How pathetic you are. Crying over this. You let little humans elicit emotional response out of you. You have worked hard. You do not deserve this. You know you have power over them, so use it. If they do not do what you want, they should get what is coming to them. Get what they deserve for hurting you like this. We both know what that is, do we not? They deserve to be punished for not following your rules.
A sadistic smile curved on Russia's mouth as the tears slowly stopped their flow from his violet eyes. He opened the window. Snow and wind surged in, instantly chilling the inside air. The curtain flapped, and snow hit Russia in the face.
He grabbed the rifle that was leaning against the wall and had been hidden behind the curtain.
"M-Mr. Russia?" Lithuania's voice was small, pathetic and confused, as he shielded his eyes from the gusts of wind and snow.
Sniffling was heard, and then the large, young man turned, wiping tears from his eyes and face.
"Hey Lithuania?" He started, "We do not want children, who can't play nice, right?" There was a gun in his right hand and he was smiling eerily, his voice a chilling, quiet volume. It was sickening.
"Wh-what do you mean Mr. Rus-" he cut off when he realized. Russia had cocked the gun and was aiming it out the window at the unarmed demonstrators.
Lithuania was afraid for their safety. He knew nothing was going to stop Russia from shooting them. He intended to kill them as payment for their protesting. He couldn't do that! That wasn't right! They weren't doing anything particularly violent. Except the yelling. But that was not an excuse to shoot at them!
He had to stop him...some how...Russia was certain of what he was doing now...but certainly he would regret it afterwards. He didn't consider the consequences of his actions before he did them. Lithuania knew this from experience.
Russia didn't need this! This promise of the Revolution that he knew was inevitable had already been taking an emotional toll on the Russian before this. Lithuania was positive Russia had been crying a few moments ago. And the guilt of killing his own people would surely eat away at him from the inside out.
Lithuania had to do something. Now. Before it was too late. But do what? That was the question...he thought about it for a moment, when suddenly, his actions worked ahead of his mind, and before he could stop himself, he was running up to Russia and throwing his arms around him, embracing him from the back. His cheek rested against his shoulder blade and the loose fringe from his ponytail brushed his neck.
Russia stiffened. But Lithuania did not release his grip.
"Lithuania...?" Russia was perplexed.
"Nyet. Don't do this. Please don't. It will just hurt you more." Lithuania's voice graced smoothly in the Russian tongue. Russia stood for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond.
"Please...please..." Lithuania continued. Russia stood there, confused.
What is this...Why is he doing this? What am I supposed to do? No one has ever done this to me before...I don't understand. What am I supposed to do about the proletariat...
"Bring us the czar!"
"This nation has gone mad!"
"Freedom and higher wages!"
They were getting louder the closer they got.
How else was he supposed to stop them if not shoot them? Surely they would hurt him if they reached him...
His finger was on the trigger. But he had yet to pull it.
Shoot them. It's the only way. Go on, shoot them. That annoying, provacative voice nagged in his confused brain.
He was seconds from pulling the trigger. But something was stopping him. What was it? The thought of killing his own people...his friends? Lithuania's tight grip on him? The brunette locks brushing against his nape? The soft, pleading cries that exited Lithuania's mouth? The sense that there was someone who actually cared about him? The tiny, soft voice in the very back of his mind that told him this was wrong? Well, whatever it was, it was stalling his process. He needed to ignore it for the sake of the task at hand.
For several moments, he debated with himself. But never once did he lower the gun.
Lithuania continued to plead. The voices continued to argue. Russia was getting angry. His mind was starting to blur. There was an issue at hand that needed to be resolved. But yet his conflicted mind would not let him resolve it. And with Lithuania clinging onto him, his heart could not bring itself to do anything. He was powerless. He was not in control. And he didn't like that one bit. He needed to regain control. These people deserved payment for their actions.
The first step in regaining control was to get this kid off of him. In his body, Lithuania was sixteen, and although he was tall, he was frail. Getting him off would be easy. He pried the brunette's arms away and pushed him backward. He stumbled and fell onto the couch.
"Do not move." Russia ordered. Upon that, he turned back and resumed aiming his gun.
Lithuania was forced to stay put and watch. His stomach churned and it was starting to ache as he feared for the lives of the protestors outside. He did not want Russia to do this. But he had been ordered specifically NOT to move. If he ignored that demand, Russia would hurt him. He knew that for a fact. So all he did was screw his eyes shut and turn away, waiting to hear the shots.
For several moments they did not come. But then, instantly, they came like claps of thunder, multiple shots, filling the air, and replacing the protest cries with screams.
That was when he heard Russia's gun clatter to the floor. But the shots continued.
-xxx-
Outisde, hundreds fell, and the white snow was turned red with the spilled blood of the people. Screams and gunshots were the only sounds that were heard. People screamed in agony as their beloved ones were gunned down, only for their cries of agony to be replaced by cries of pain as they fell beside them. And those cries reverbereted through St. Petersburg on that grim, grey, bloody Sunday.
-xxx-
Back inside, Russia had dropped his gun and stood frozen in shock. His finger had nearly pushed down the trigger, when those several shots had pierced the air. The screams followed instantly, and rang in his ears. It was a horrible sound. And it would haunt him for the rest of his life. To think that he almost could have been responsible for those deaths...those screams...he usually liked hearing the pain of his victims...but in such a large number as that...never...
"M-Mr. R-Russia..." Lithuania started softly.
Russia slammed the window and whipped over the curtains.
Then, he sunk to the ground on his knees, hands pressed to the side of his head. He wore a pained expression, and began to tremble. Through the windows he still heard the dreadful noise.
He could not stand it. He needed to mask out that terrible sound that would forever haunt his mind. He needed to find some way to do so. Tears started to burn in his eyes and began to stream down his cheeks, landing on the floor and on his hands that were now reddened by the scalding drops. His mind was growing fuzzier by the minute, his head was starting to hurt. He suddenly let out a cry. A cry from the depths of his throat that he had been holding in for centuries. Centuries that he had endured so much pain. It was a cry that would have dubbed him insane. A cry that was a true reflection his madness. It was a cry so loud, so agonized...like that of thunder...that it overpowered the screams and gunshots outside. And it overpowered Russia himself, and everything was instantly a blur.
And to Lithuania, it was a cry so terrifying, that it made every one of his other fears near meaningless.
But suddenly, all at once, everything fell silent. It was as if nothing had happened.
Russia's world turned black.
-xxx-
The next thing Russia knew, when at last he came around, was that there was a cloth being dabbed on his forehead, and he was curled up into Lithuania, the brunette's thin form cradling him in his arms. And Russia's burning hot tears were still streaming down his face.
He did not say a word, but he opened his violet eyes, and met Lithuania's deep, gentle, yet worried emeralds. When Russia saw him, his little smile curved briefly on his mouth. He wanted to say something to Lithuania, but the events that had just occured had frazzled him to a point where he quite literally forgot how to speak.
Despite this though, he felt safe.
As a result, only four words formed:
"Safe...Warm...Security...Spasiba."
-xxx-
A/N: So what did you think? I'd love to know! Also, this was thoroughly based on one of the Hetalia comic strips. If you are interested, I have put the link to the original strip on my profile. All the lines I took from it belong to Hidekaz Himaruya!