Summary: I've heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord…
Rating: K+? What does incest give it?
Warnings: Incest? Angst? Genre fail? Belarus? She's always a warning, isn't she?
Characters/Pairings: Belarus, Russia, mentions of others. Belarus → Russia.
Disclaimer: Disclaimer. Hetalia. Bork bork bork.
Author Notes: Wrote this to the Rufus Wainwright cover of the song, if you need that reference. Might make this a drabble series with the other verses for other pairings. Opinion?
Also, could not spell "bouquet" worth anything, according to Word. Autocorrect now has a new word.
I would love to know what you think of this!
I've heard there was a secret chord / That David played and it pleased the Lord…
What was it her brother liked?
He liked his pipe, an odd weapon of choice but his weapon of choice. He liked their older sister. He liked those annoying Baltic nations, Latvia and Lithuania and Estonia. He liked the idea of there being friends in his household. He liked animals, even if animals didn't like him. He liked the sun, he liked playing with his friends. He liked little, cute things.
She was neither little or cute.
But that wasn't all, was it? He liked warmth, he liked his scarf. He liked sunflowers.
Right. He liked sunflowers.
And so she set out. Sunflowers. Bouquets, hundreds, thousands, as many as she could. Every day, every hour, if it was required. He would love it. He would love her.
He would.
… But you don't really care for music, do you?
She didn't break in. Didn't pick the lock, didn't try anything, just waited patiently at his door after ringing twice. This was going to work.
She held the bouquets in her hands like a bride would, but the small note only said "I love you." Simplicity. Maybe that was what he appreciated. Like those Baltics. They were simple. He would like that.
Maybe.
Her brother showed some shock when he opened the door to see her waiting there, her five bouquets of fifteen sunflowers, seventy-five, so many little suns just staring at him, his little sister's hopeful face just above that.
"Brother, I brought you some—" The door closed. Her brother retreated back inside. He was gone.
She uttered something, small-voiced, weak, words she couldn't recall thinking before they left her lips.
Her teeth gritted.
Sunflowers fluttered to the ground.
Her fists slammed against the door.
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth / The minor fall, the major lift…
He didn't hate his sister.
No. He wasn't capable of that.
He did love her. As a sister. He could stand her—he could even act like they had a completely normal sibling relationship—when she wasn't talking about marriage. But that was all she talked about. That was all she thought about.
Marriage.
Married married married.
That was her hallelujah.
"Brother…?" Her voice was small, wounded on the other side of the door. "I… I brought you some sunflowers. You like those, right?" He didn't want to face the kind of expression could bring out such a voice, but he also wanted to open the door and console his misguided little sister. He reached for the doorknob.
And then he heard a bang. Again. Bang, bang, bang. She was banging on the door. Not those patient knocks that he had heard earlier, ones that he didn't think signaled her arrival. These were manic, powerful. "Brother, answer me! What's wrong with you? Brother?"
He leaned against his barricade and waited for it to stop.
The baffled king composing Hallelujah…
"Brother?" she screamed again, her fist hitting the barrier again. Again. Repetition. Minutes, days, weeks, years, her usual routine. Hoping that door would no longer be her obstacle. "Brother, why don't you want to marry? Brother! Open the door! Please!"
Her war against the door grew more vicious. Fists banging, nails clawing. Splinters sprouted, slashed and tore at her skin, slicing at her palms and fingers. Her nails broke on the wood. Blood stained that doorway, something once pristine now marked with her desperation. "Brother, listen to me!"
Nothing.
"Brother?"
Nothing.
He was there. She knew it was him against the door. She could easily defeat a stupid door.
She couldn't defeat her brother.
"Brother…?"
Hallelujah… Hallelujah… Hallelujah… Hallelujah
No response.
She lightly kicked at one of the sunflowers littering his doorstep. Then she crushed it underfoot, along with the other three that happened to be unlucky enough to be in the way. She watched coldly as the petals and flowers fell apart under her, spread out with the wind that chilled her to the bone without her actually feeling anything.
Again, she was met with failure. Again. Again again again nothing, nothing at all, always nothing, never anything from her brother. He hated her, wished her dead, didn't he? Absolutely hated her, loved their sister, loved those Baltics, loved that stupid China, but she, she was the girl he hated so so much, no matter how much and how often she tried to love him, he was her only obstacle, always, always saying no, always hating her, always saying "go home!" and "get away!" and hating her.
That damn bastard.
She spun on her heel and left the premises. She understood what it meant for her. And yet, yet, there she was, planning for another day. A hopeless battle, but she fought to the end. It was her fight, she would fight and fight and fight and lose and fight again, because Belarus did not lose. Not this fight. Never this fight.
Even with what it meant for her.
She was the girl who would never find hallelujah.