A/N ;; This story was a unique experience for me a couple of reasons. First and foremost, this was the first time I could mark 'complete' on a Hetalia story. I have far too many multi-chapter stories in progress, but I won't go into that. Second, romance was not the main point of this story. What a shocker, huh? And finally, I've never written Ukraine or Belarus in depth before, and I find their characters to be quite interesting and a challenge to get down correctly – Belarus especially.
I obviously took some liberties with the story. It isn't completely historically accurate. Take that into mind before you read, if you would.
You can see this story as slight BelaUkr, if you wish. It's up to you.
Enjoy.
.
.
.
Chernobyl
.
.
.
The Ferris wheel doesn't always spin, not like it used to, accompanied with music and laughter and happiness. These days, a gust of wind might be strong enough to push it, but when the wind is gone, so is its motion. It always makes an ear-splitting squealing sound as it grinds to a halt once again, stopped by its own rusty mechanisms. It's been weeks since she's heard the laughing sound of her own people, but Ukraine has come to accept the silence as commonplace. It's doesn't bother her as much as it used to.
Ukraine watches and listens to the Ferris wheel from her little box, which, once upon a time, could formerly be called a home. Now, it is nothing but a space she lives in. The city has been abandoned – save for her. She can't bring herself to leave. She is tied to this place.
The city is like darkness around her, existing in swirling planes of dying embers and lingering radiation. It glows in the sunset, turning the once-blue sky into a deep, charred red. The wind whips the dying embers into the air, creating small swirling patterns in the smoke, like artwork, like death – and it would almost be beautiful, if this weren't in such a dire situation.
And the Ferris wheel. It spins.
She cannot recognize her own people.
It is her first time outside since the incident, and Ukraine can feel the tears welling in her eyes as she examines the aftermath of the explosion – which is almost strange, because she had thought weeks of crying in that shell of a former home would have left her emotionless to such sights. She can feel the nausea rising in her stomach as she looks over her people. She had only ventured outside in hopes of finding someone, anyone, alive.
She doesn't have to examine anyone too closely to know that is not the case. It's too late. She is too late. If there was anyone alive here at all, she did not reach them fast enough to save them. If anything, she hopes they did not suffer.
She was too late.
It was her fault.
It's always her fault.
The sunrise tends to come more slowly now. The sky is always grey, and the clouds don't move, even when a slight breeze does stir the leaves. It's beginning to fade into summer, but the leaves on the trees go from green to yellow to brown… to black.
Ukraine wonders if this empty city, which was Pripyat once, full of vibrant people and life, is how the world is supposed to be – empty and wandering and just the slightest bit eerie. Now, the city feels only dead, nameless and insignificant with its lack of life. The apartments are empty, and her citizens' things are abandoned in their homes. The plant, in the distance, the bringer of this horrible disaster, continues to burn.
As she walks down the roads of her city, careful to step over the bodies, steps echoing in the streets, Ukraine realizes that something is following her. She can feel eyes on the back of her neck, burning into her skin.
But when she turns around, it's just the faceless people again.
The faceless people she was unable to save.
The black rain falls for three days and three nights.
It is poison, Ukraine knows. Within those droplets remains enough radiation to harm her even more than the poison already has, possibly even kill her. But perhaps then she would be equal with her own citizens.
Ukraine walks out the door and stands in the poison rain, raising her head and relishing in its cool feeling on her face.
The next day, she wakes up coughing.
The Ferris wheel hasn't moved in almost a week. With nothing but silence and her occasional ragged sob to accompany her through the day, Ukraine easily picks up on the steady, soft footsteps that approach her little box, disturbing the carefully crafted quiet.
She knows those footsteps.
She also knows the voice that accompanies those footsteps, calling out, "Sister!" over and over again with fruitless results.
And, Ukraine is torn. Attracting her sister's attention could possibly mean her rescue, but the longer Belarus lingers in the city, breathing in the radiation, letting it affect her clothes and skin, the more she will suffer. Belarus has gone through enough pain because of her. She does not want to be the cause of anymore hurt.
In the end, it doesn't matter. Belarus has always known where she would be in times like these.
And despite the danger, Ukraine can do nothing but smile as she sees her sister's face in the window of her box, peering inside curiously.
"I miss my people," Ukraine admits after weeks of being alone. It feels nice to have someone for company. She had missed the companionship of having anyone near her. "I miss the laughter. I miss the happiness. I miss everything."
"That is understandable," Belarus says, stroking Ukraine's short blonde hair. The movements are stiff, but her sister's fingers feel so alive on her skull, so gentle and reassuring. They never were overly close siblings, not like her and Russia were, but the fact that Belarus was making an attempt to comfort her means more than anything. "You always were different around your people."
"More alive?" Ukraine asks, looking up at Belarus from her position on the ground.
Belarus shakes her heads, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. She is just as beautiful as always, just as cold and as aloof as Ukraine remembers her being. She hasn't seen her sister in months, but Ukraine is glad to see that she hasn't changed. Her movements are elegant and precise, proud and confident, but there is a certain softness in her eyes as she looks down at her older sister, brought to her knees by something she had no control over. "No, sister. More yourself."
"Are you going to take me away?" Ukraine asks, resting her head on Belarus' lap and closing her eyes. To where her sister would take her is unquestionable. She would of course be brought back to Russia, where she had promised the Baltics and Prussia that she would be back soon enough. She can feel Belarus move a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, and knows that she is thinking.
While Ukraine's eyes are closed, Belarus' vision clouds over, momentarily lost in thought. Russia would certainly be pleased with her if she brought Ukraine back, but… surely her sister was dangerous. She was, as well; that was why she had requested Russia's permission to leave. She hadn't wanted to infect anyone else.
Belarus frowned. She probably shouldn't be there, either, in the town closest to the source of poison. She should make Ukraine leave, bring her somewhere where it would be easier for her to heal her wounds. But as Ukraine brings one of her hands up to the bed Belarus was sitting on, seeking a bit more comfort, she takes it without question. She knows what she wants to do. She's been thinking about it for weeks.
Why separate the infected?
Finally, Belarus says, "No. It will not make a different either way. At this point, it's too late for me, as well."
Ukraine does not question her decision.
A week later, they run out of food.
Ukraine thinks of herself as alone, even though Belarus is there with her, always watching her with that little frown on her face. Her sister can't be real, after all. Not now, not when she is acting so kind, not when she is acting like the little sister Ukraine had tried to raise her to be, not when they are finally acting as true sisters towards each other. She is only a figment of Ukraine's imagination, and all of this will go away very soon.
She has started to notice tufts of her hair littering the floor of her little box. She kicks the hair into the corners of her box, and instead talks to the imaginary Belarus. She talks to her sister more in that week than she ever had before, in all their years of existence. She talks aimlessly, about whatever she can think of at the time, and Belarus goes along with it, nodding and speaking occasionally. They often fall back on the subject of Russia, a topic they are both equally passionate about.
She feels closer to her sister than she ever had before.
She wonders when the radiation will leave. Most of the clouds have left, but the sky is still orange and dark. It's quite the sight to look at – it's beautiful, in a twisted sort of way – but imaginary Belarus says that it's still too dangerous to go outside. She's probably right. She's beginning to show those patches of raw flesh, signs of radiation poisoning.
Ukraine is, as well. But she doesn't like to think about it, and instead recites memories of their shared childhood to imaginary Belarus. It isn't exactly the same, but it is close enough to be almost normal.
She feels like a ghost, like her body is evaporating by the minute.
Her vision of Belarus is crying, too, silently; is that really her skin on the floor? It litters the landscape and creates small mountains on the streets, almost like snow. If that happens to be the case, then she's lost an awful lot of skin. Ukraine certainly has.
Or perhaps it's just the dust from the clouds overhead. Maybe she's imagining things again.
It wouldn't be the first time.
She feels like she's dying.
Ukraine screams. She screams until her voice is hoarse and raw. The tears are pouring down her cheeks before she has a chance to stop them. All the pain of her people is being focused into one body, so much poison and so much radiation. Imaginary Belarus' arms wrap around her shoulders, and Ukraine finds only the tiniest amount of comfort in the touch.
She prays for the pain to stop.
It never does.
A/N ;; This ending is kind of abrupt. Oh well. I like it regardless.
When researching the Chernobyl disaster, I was surprised to find out that it was actually Belarus and Austria that were the countries most largely affected with Caesium-137. Ukraine only had 6.2 percent of the country affected while Belarus and Austria had 14.4 and 10.3 respectively, according to the chart I found.
But I just thought that was interesting. I wanted to share it with my readers.
Anyway, stay awesome, guys.