A/N: So this has been sitting around for a while…figured it should end up posted at some point. Thanks to Bree for the beta and the summary, thing, and to Aoitsukineko for the beta, as well. This may or may not be part of a bigger, longer fic. Let us know what you think. Translations are at the bottom.
~ Elle
Wandering through the muddy streets of Berlin in the pouring rain, Russia seemed to take little notice of the ruined shell of the city crumbling around him, or even his own appearance, which told the story of battle just as well.
His clothes were grimy with dirt, saturated with blood where a bullet had grazed his leg, singed by narrowly-avoided explosions. He wore a standard issue Red Army uniform; constantly adjusting the collar and sleeves, as if it didn't belong to him. The familiar scarf was around his neck, the only piece of his usual attire; it was perfectly white, despite having been worn throughout the campaign.
Russia smiled as he continued his unhurried walk through the streets, reveling silently in the joy of being a spectator to the the death-throes of the once-mighty metropolis. This place, the axis of an industrial giant, a center of culture, built around the lives, hearts, and minds of thousands, fell before him as easily as a sandcastle before the sole of a giant's shoe.
As random as his path may have appeared at first glance, Russia was searching for someone, evident in the way he scrutinized his surroundings with every step. He looked like some perverse doll, turning its head back and forth as he moved, careful not to miss anything. The opportunity was too great; the rest of the Allies were not here to stop him. He did not intend to miss what might be his only chance.
As it turned out, he needn't have been so thorough. Germany made no attempt to conceal himself. Russia's violet eyes fell upon him, and were lit with a sort of perverse joy. His smile widened.
He could have killed the other nation from where he stood, if he had wanted to. But his curiosity at the other's noticeably deteriorated state superseded his desire for blood, at least at that particular moment.
Germany was standing in the snow, slouching, with his shoulders hunched against the cold. In anyone else, Russia supposed this would have been acceptable; the Pig would have done it, and probably the Briton, too, but not Germany. He always stood ramrod straight; shoulders back, head up, like a proper soldier. It was one of the qualities Russia had always admired in his adversary, along with his meticulous attention to detail, which was also conspicuously missing; disheveled hair, rumpled, unwashed clothes, dirty hands; none of these things were right. And in Russia's experience, nations were always at their most interesting when they were not-right. They tended to understand his point of view better than they usually did, and they didn't whisper nasty words like 'unstable', 'insane', or 'nutcase'.
Deciding it was worth the precious time it would take to find out what was wrong with the other, Russia hoisted the Anti-tank rifle he had been trailing behind him onto his shoulder (The weapon was a bit extreme, he knew, but he'd wanted something that would be suitably spectacular) and went to stand in front of the other, leaving a neat little line of footprints away from the previous trail of seemingly random ones.
Russia noted the hatch in the ground near where Germany was standing and resolved to further investigate it later. It was very likely a safe house for some important government officials, and might even hold survivors for him to...interrogate, but for now, the nation in front of him had his full and undivided attention, although the reverse seemed not to be true.
Russia was standing only about a meter away from Germany, but he had yet to receive a reaction of any sort from the other. Germany's blue eyes were unfocused, staring at patch of muddy ground a few feet away from him, but quite obviously not seeing it. Russia took another few steps forward, so that the two nations were practically face to face. Still, nothing.
Russia just stood that way for a long while, observing and waiting to see what the other would do; although that he would do anything at all seemed increasingly unlikely. A cigarette was slowly burning itself out in Germany's mouth, the fire moving steadily towards chapped lips. Russia idly wondered how long the other nation had been standing here, and looked about him for clues.
The ground surrounding Germany was littered with cigarette butts, and the man himself had been standing outside long enough that his clothes looked completely soaked through. Germany was wearing a rain-repellent trenchcoat, leading Russia to hypothesize that he must have been here for hours, and presenting him with another small mystery; what was Germany doing out here in the first place? He was confident his soldiers had bombed this area; it was practically suicidal to be outside during an assault. Hoping the spot Germany was so intensely staring at would provide clues, he followed the other's gaze to what looked to have been a pile of freshly dug dirt, prior to the rain turning it all to mud, and began sloughing it away with his gloved hands.
It appeared to be a crater made by one of his bombs, having been filled with dirt by someone. It seemed an odd thing to have done without purpose. Likely there was something buried there.
After about ten minutes, he uncovered something; charred human remains. His eyes widened fractionally, and he worked faster.
There turned out to be two bodies, badly burnt enough that Russia couldn't tell who they were. But he had an idea.
There was only one reason that S.S. officers would have come out here in the middle of a bombing, only one person they would risk their own precious hides for. Of course, he'd have to check. People had tried to kill the bastard before and no-one had yet succeeded, but if it was...
Deciding it wasn't as important as his current mission, he spat on the corpses. Whoever they had been, they were assuredly Nazis. He stripped his hands of the ruined gloves, leaving them on the ground next to the uncovered remains, and then returned to the still unmoving German.
The question remained of how, exactly, the traitor should die. Sundown was approaching, and Russia had precious little time left to do the job. He could just shoot the man, of course, but somehow that was starting to seem inadequate. A familiar sort of restlessness was building within him; he needed to provide a death which would satisfy it.
It had to be something visceral, violent, and uniquely him. Something to show the others what happened when he was betrayed.
They'd had an arrangement, he and Germany. The militaristic nation had agreed to help him with his favorite hobby of partitioning dearest Poland, and in return, all Russia had to do was stay out of the other's way. Simple enough.
But, of course, he should have realized, you couldn't trust anyone. Not people, and especially not nations. Germany had turned around and stabbed him in the back, like the filthy pig he was, and it was Russia's right, no, his duty to exact retribution for what was done to him, to his people.
Although, he had to admit, it was partially his fault. For believing Germany in the first place.
Silly me, he thought, Silly Russia, for forgetting that everyone always leaves. That's why you have to keep them there, make them stay put, even if they don't want to. It's for their own good, really. They have to stay there so they can be a big happy family.
STAY PUT, stay there, Silly Germany, Silly Germany, pretending to be friends and then leaving, STAY THERE, SILLY BOY.
Russia began to sway slightly in front of his adversary, giggling faintly. The soft chuckles turned into raucous laughter when the other nation failed to react to what usually made others so uneasy. It was so painfully obvious what was wrong now, and if Russia had been thinking in any sort of coherent manner, he might've taken the time to congratulate himself on the revelation.
He didn't BLINK often enough, Silly child, silly boy blink stop stop stop blink blink, don't you know, don'tyouKNOW, it's important to blink, GERMANY, it keeps your eyes in your HEAD, youknow, if you don't BLINK then they might FALL OUT. Or, or, if you like RUSSIA can take them out FOR YOU. It'd be FASTER, that way, wouldn't IT?
As it stood, however, his thoughts were a mess; his mind overrun by that strange restlessness he had felt earlier, now absolutely demanding he act, right at this moment.
Russia rose to his feet.
SITTING in the MUD? WHEN did that happen, silly him, sillyrussiaivan, NO sitting in the MUD, YOU'LL DIRTY YOUR CLOTHES. Sorry,sorry,sorryKatyusha, RUSSIA FORGOT.
He moved to take his water pipe from inside his coat, but remembered they'd made him leave it behind,
NOT a GOOD enough WEAPON they'd said, pleasesir, pleasepleaseplease leave it behind, pleasepleaseplease for your own safety, pleasepleaseplease don't hit me RUSSIA, SIR
so he searched for something else;
maybe a brick or some broken lamp post. But there was nothing suitable to be found. No matter.
"You just...you just stay there, Malenʹkaya Germaniya, Russia...Russia will be right...right back," he said, laughing hysterically as he stumbled off toward someone's house.
The door was in the way.
IT was in the WAY of truefreedomprogress, don't let them stop us, CAPITALIST PIG
so Russia tore it from it's hinges. He stumbled into the kitchen, looking for a weapon of some kind. He passed over the knives and the pots and pans;
too EASY too GOOD for the traitor, RIP OUT HIS HEART
and abruptly decided that he needed something very specific; nothing else would do. He knew it was there, everyone had one
EXCEPT for him, notrusssia no, therewasno water, no food GIVE US BREAD.
There was one under the sink, but it was not straight enough. There was usually one in the backyard, so he stumbled through the deserted house until he found the rear exit. Forcing it open without checking to see if it was unlocked, he caused himself to trip and almost fall into the small, neglected backyard.
There was, indeed, another one attached to the wall. It was short, but he could use it, if he could only get it off.
TEAR it from the wall, do it NOW.
And then he was holding it, and Russia vaguely wondered how it had happened, and why there was blood all over his hands, but it didn't concern him overly much. He walked back through the house, and then he lost sight of things for a moment
THERE'S blood, bloodeverywhere, and the CHILDREN, take theCHILDREN away, MYLOVE, they're SCREAMING
and he was standing in front of Germany again, laughing, and panting like he'd been running somewhere, without knowing if he had. And this time the other nation looked up.
"Hallo." He said.
Hahahahaha, that was, THATWAS, funny because lasttime, LASTTIME, Russia had been so loud, and GERMANY hadn'tcouldn'tcan't hear him
"Privyet" Russia giggled back, still swaying, as if drunk. Germany didn't seem to notice. He moved a hand to his lips, and removed the barely-there cigarette, flicking it into the mud, where it died with a faint hiss. He took a step forward, seeming unsteady for the first moment, widening his stance to regain his balance. He looked into Russia's eyes.
"That was my last cigarette." He said calmly, with a sort of finality, as though Russia was supposed to take something from that. The other nation just laughed at him.
"Da, it was. Vy znaete, you know, it...ah, it is... funny, Da, because I...I come here to break you, Malenʹkaya Germaniya, but you have done...such good job yourself...it almost seems to be... bessmyslennyĭ...pointless, Da." Russia took it as confirmation of his poorly worded theory when Germany did not respond.
"But I would not want perfectly good pipe to go to waste, Malenʹkaya Germaniya, because you see, you see, Russia went to all that trouble, TROUBLE, to find one just for you, Malenʹkaya Germaniya, so must use it now, Da?" He smiled insanely at the other nation, but still, Germany said nothing. Russia giggled again. "Do svidaniya, Malenʹkaya Germaniya." And he swung the short pipe, already covered in his own blood, at the other nation in a sweeping arc.
YES, the traitor must be punishedPUNISHED, make an EXAMPLE of HIM, MY Belaya Rossiya, do it for Generalʹnyĭ Zimniĭ.
Russia stopped abruptly. He looked down at his weapon, bloodied and partially broken. Suddenly, it wasn't a pipe anymore. It was a sword Defend yourself, glupyĭ , don't stand there like a coward! And then it was a slender stick, on the end of which fire hissed and spit, sending out plumes of black smoke Burn it to the ground. Destroy it. It'll only hurt for a moment, my Belaya Rossiya, Zima promises. And then it was a gun, a musket or a rifle, things were blurring, he couldn't tell anymore- Don't be silly, my Belaya Rossiya, we will win. We always win. You are unstoppable, moĭ priz, moe sokrovishche. Believe me. Trust me. I will keep you safe. Vsegda.
Zima.
Broken promises. Thousands of deaths, all because he listened to Zima's advice, all because he followed, like some dog, when the General called him to war.
Not this time.
This time, the message would be his and his alone. He would do it because it was he who had been slighted, because it was his reputation in jeopardy. Not because of Zima. Because of Rossiya. Because it was what he wanted. What he deserved.
Wasn't it?
"Budʹ ty proklyat! Ubiraĭsya iz moyeĭ golovy, vam kusok derʹma!" he screamed suddenly, violently, at no one.
He threw the pipe onto the ground next to Germany, eyes wild, clutching at his hair and panting. How could he be sure? The General loved mind games. What if this was all another manipulation? How could he trust anything- his feelings, his thoughts, his hopes, his fears; they could all be something foisted on him. He had to get away, he had to hide and defend himself, he had to-
No. No. He mustn't get worked up.
He watched his enemy a moment, calming himself. Yes. It had been his decision to kill the other nation. He had accomplished it himself. He smiled, satisfied, and was about to walk away when he saw something. He frowned, tilted his head and squinted down at the other nation.
Rise, fall, rise, fall. Germany was still breathing.
Before he even knew what he was doing, he found himself screaming, whirling around furiously and picking up his gun, discarded in the mud. He shoved the barrel up against the other's chest, stood there panting for a moment, grinning manically at Germany. Then he fired.
Once. Twice. And the blood flew everywhere, spurted out like water from a broken pipe.
He was gone from the place after that, leaving the rifle and the pipe crossed together in the dirt next to the defeated nation. A symbol. A message, for all to see:
No slight will go unanswered, no betrayal will be forgotten. Beware, for this world belongs to me, and I rule with an iron fist.
TRANSLATIONS-
Malenʹkaya Germaniya- Little Germany
Privyet- Hello
Vy znaete- You know
bessmyslennyĭ- pointless
Do svidaniya- Goodbye
Belaya Rossiya- White Russia
Generalʹnyĭ Zimniĭ- General Winter
glupyĭ- stupid
Zima- Winter
moĭ priz, moe sokrovishche- my prize, my treasure
Vsegda- Always
Budʹ ty proklyat! Ubiraĭsya iz moyeĭ golovy, vam kusok derʹma!- Damn you! Get out of my head, you piece of shit!