Summary: Because everyone, even heroes, sometimes lose their way.
Warnings: war. OCs. slight america/oc. WW2. Mentions of the American occupation in the Philippines. Bilingual fic. Introducing Luzon (one of my OC triplets which includes Visayas and Mindanao). OOC. Serious-er than the usual Hetalia. I first decided to make America just a nameless soldier but meh where'd be the fun in that? Kinda cynical!characters
Disclaimer: Hetalia is not—and will never be—mine. All rights reserved to their owners. No copyright infringement was intended on the making of this story.
Let Colors Blend
He stumbled through the jungle, trying to find a way to escape. He tripped somewhere, and when he fell, he couldn't even find the strength to get up.
He didn't know how much time passed while he stared at the leaves of the trees, light passing through it. And then he heard a shriek and the voice of a little girl.
"Ate! Ate!" The voice repeatedly shouted. It made his head pound, made him close his eyes. When the voice sounded farther, he slowly opened his eyes, tried to move the limbs that he knew he couldn't.
"Ate! Dito!"
"Diyos ko po," another voice, this one older. "Diyos ko."
And he didn't even knew what happened next because he passed out.
He opened his eyes to her, as she put a damp cloth on his forehead and adjusted the strips on his wounds. He knew who she was immediately.
They have met before. Her brother, Philippines, quickly took liking to him. But he remembered well the scathing glares and suspicious looks he received from the young boy's older sisters. She was one of those sisters.
"Luzon..." He mumbled, calling her name.
All he got was a blank stare, before she left and walked away, leaving him alone. And that was when his nightmares took him—memories and dreams of his comrades, of lifeless bodies and hopeless eyes, of blood and death.
The first time she spoke, was when he was well enough to sit.
"You are from Bataan," she said. It was not a question, nor a statement. It was something in between, as if she just said it.
He nodded anyway. "We failed." He hung his head low, closed his hands to fists with the nails digging into his skin.
"You tried," she shrugged, like it was nothing. But her eyes showed otherwise: she looked hurt and tired and hopeless.
He wanted to do something. He was a hero. He wanted to help. But how could he help anyone when he could barely help himself?
"We are at a guerillas' camp by the way," she mumbled absentmindedly. "And if you don't help them or if you leave they'll kill you. The wounds of your betrayal is still fresh on some of my people."
He suddenly remembers the treaty that ultimately gave this country to his, the massacre on Samar talked about by a lot of soldiers. A whole village, including women and children. Everyone killed.
"Ate!" A head popped out on the door of the hut. A young girl on the age of thirteen, thin but with huge, bright eyes and a charming smile. "Kailangan daw po kayo sa labas!" She entered, and turned from the woman to him. "A! You're a... You're... gising..."
"Awake," Luzon helpfully supplied from beside him. She was smiling amusedly.
"You're awake! Salamat po, Ate!" She grinned at Luzon, and then looked at him again. "How...?" She gestured at his body.
"Ah, I'm fine," he smiled. "Thanks for asking, kiddo."
"Susunod ako," Luzon, as she started to clean, gave a nod to the young girl. "Mauna ka na."
The girl flashed another smile and went off in a dash.
"Your name... I thought it was Luzon?" he asked her confusedly. Was she not her? "Why does she keep calling you Uh-tey?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's Ate," she replied a and eboth said sharply. "And it means older sister. Besides, even though I'm Luzon, we still do have human names."
To be honest, he's forgotten about that. He's forgotten that he's not just a nation. He's also human.
"Babalik ako," she said. "I'll be returning. Don't move much yet. Your wounds aren't fully healed."
He wondered if she forgot she's not fully human.
As he slowly healed, she'd help him around and feed him and do all sorts of things for him. But never did she speak to him again. Which was queer because all her comrades kept questioning him on what happened.
"Won't you ask?" He dampened his lips with his tongue, as he stared at the girl digging for him root crops as he sat at the shade of a nearby tree.
"Are you ready to talk about them?" she replied without even stopping on her digging. She didn't even look at him.
Images of people who'd join him during this war passed fleetingly through his mind. He winced and clenched his hand. He shook his head. "No..."
"Then no," she replied promptly. "No, I would not ask."
He looked at her. Her back was to him, and since it was rather cold, she had her long, dark hair down.
"Why?" He croaked.
"Because, Joe," it was a name the guerillas kept calling him. They didn't even bother knowing who he was. She said it in an exasperated manner, finally facing him. "What would be the use of asking someone who does not want to talk?"
He blinked and her back was turned from him again.
He'd given them information, helped them in a couple of ways. But he found himself always accompanying her every time she scavenges. It just seemed right that he take care of her, after she did with him. It was then, she told him, little by little, of her history. Of her siblings. Of China and Malaysia and Japan and India and Indonesia. Of aswangs (he hated that part) and of the spirits of nature, of lamang-lupa and diwatas. Of Rizal and Bonifacio and Luna and Sakay, of the rays of the sun in their flag.
The young girl who'd originally found him (she had no name, left an orphan, so it was Luzon who took her in and named her Maria), and a few more children in the camp, easily became his shadows. It was easier to talk to them, easier to play with them. They looked up to him, considered him some sort of a hero. So he told them of his land, of his place, and when he looked at Luzon as he told these stories she would always avoid his eyes.
"What are you doing?"
He looked at her. He was horrified. He'd woken up to hear the shutters of the hut opening and so he followed her. She'd headed to the place where they kept enemies, to feed and release a prisoner the guerillas have taken.
"I have to let him go!" she whispered back angrily.
"He's an enemy! He's the villain—"
"Do you know what they'll do to him?!"
He turned mum.
"Do you?!"
"I've heard..."
"Exactly. They'd do just that and worse. I joined this revolt because I wanted to be free, not torture people."
"But he—"
"He is a civilian. Or do you not remember the promise of not hurting them? His family waits for him."
He clenched his fist angrily but did nothing to stop her.
They had to run. Someone had tipped the Japanese forces of where their camp where. When it was announced, he looked at her, but did not say anything.
As they packed, he'd noticed the tears she cried.
"It's not your fault."
She laughed at his poor attempt to make her feel better. "It is."
"Bundok," the young girl Maria pointed to the hills surrounding them.
"Bon... dok...?"
"Ulap."
He smiled. "Ulap. Clouds." That one was easy.
"Púnó."
"Puno. Tree?"
"Opo. There. Paruparo. Uhm, ano..."
"Butterfly?"
"Yes."
He followed the butterfly with his eyes, and vaguely realized the butterfly's wings were of the color black.
He watched her closely as she stared at Maria, the young girl she considered as a younger sister. The young girl trapped in the forest as the Japanese soldiers closed in on her.
Everyone knew what those soldiers did to the girls they caught.
America readied his gun, and pointed it at the young girl.
"Look away," he told Luzon. He wanted to spare her of this. Wanted to spare both the girl and her. Be a hero. Because that was what he was, right? That was what he was. A hero.
"Hindi," Luzon's dark brown eyes was still at the girl. "No. I will not look away." She spared him a glance: hard, but pleading. And then her eyes were back again to the girl.
And so he shot the girl dead as she looked. He noticed her tremble, noticed her pale and bite her lip.
Later, he asked her why she would not do as he asked.
"Because I have to remember," she mumbled as she closed her eyes, trying to comb away the tangles of her long, dark brown hair. She was still trembling—of fear or pain or exhaustion, he did not know—trying desperately to calm herself down. "Because the people won't, and no one else will. Kasi kailangan. That is the curse bestowed to me and my sisters the moment we became this. We are the one who keep the things we don't want our brother to see."
He watched her quietly, the usually loud young man at a loss on what to say.
"Will you fight?" She asked.
"Yes. I have to."
She pursed her lips, thinking of what to say. And then said: "this battle is not yours to fight."
He shook his head. "This is the battle that might change the outcome of the war. It is everyone's fight."
She blinked, smiled. "Bayani."
"Huh? Bayan? Country?"
"No. Bayani. Hero."
It was his turn to smile. "Bayani."
End.
Weeeeelllllll... Yeah. I'm done. Bye bye. (I WILL DO VI AND MINDA SOMEDAY DONT WORRY)
Inyhoo, the original intention of the story changed through the weeks I was writing this, so if you found it rather lacking... you're not wrong. The original concept was Luzon-Japan interaction during WWII. But then it changed and turned to Luz showing America that it's fine even though you're not a hero, and for America to show Luz that she (and her sisters), although they're not countries, still are very much important. It changed and went to this.
I'm still unsure on how I'll tackle Vi's and Minda's chapters, but we'll cross the bridge when we get there.
So. Ja! Reviews and such stuff are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Update: Fixed it! Thanks to ElricGurl for pointing it out!
Update: Fixed it again. (MY GOSH I REALLY SHOULD CHECK BEFORE POSTING). Thanks for stelyaria for pointing it out!
