China came to him for help.
It shouldn't have been surprising. Russia knew that China needed aid, and sought for it from the westerners with their democratic ways. China was denied that help from them. Russia, though, was much kinder than those dirty westerners. He vowed to help unify China with a smile on his face and arms wide open.
"Trust me, Kitai."
..1923..
At the place where they meet, China's own face only reflects disappointment in himself for a brief moment as he remembers those words coming from those very lips during the Opium Wars. Trust me. The Soviet and Chinese representatives are having their own talk in another room of the bland, stuffy building in Moscow while China and Russia stare down at each other over the long table, a treaty being signed by the latter and passed to the former.
Another treaty.
Another agreement to be ignored or violated.
That's what all of the foreigners do, is it not?
So long as it helps them, it is allright to stomp on China, lie, and manipulate. What is a treaty, after all? Just a piece of paper with promises as fragile as the web of a spider, with the signatures of two nations on it the only break from the monotonous print of the lies to be.
China's signature is made gracefully with delicate flicks of his barely exposed wrist. It is that sliver of skin that Russia watches with hungry eyes. China does not need to look up to confirm this. He is always being watched with hungry eyes in Russia's presence. As soon as he is finished signing, China drops the brush into the tiny bottle of ink and pushes the agreement away, then covers his wrist.
"Don't lie to me."
Lilac eyes meet cold, dark ones. China is stronger than he was before. Still weak, still needing help, but stronger than before. Russia's smile has not left his face this whole time, though now it seems so much more menacing.
"Why would I ever do that? I only want to help." The expression lightens as Russia takes the paper and rolls it up in his large hands. China's eyes never leave his face, never stray from the violet eyes of a man who has manipulated and lied to him in the past. "Poor China." He laughs as the Chinese nation visibly winces at the words dripping with honey. "You just need training, da? Good training and the right mindset to bring you together."
Communism. That is the mindset that Russia speaks of. His dirty red ways which have sent America into a paranoid fit half the world away from them. China knows that some of his own people believe in Russia's ways, but the Kuomintang are the ones who will lead him to harmony and unification. Reds be damned. China offers a forced smile back to Russia.
"You are right. I do need proper training. Let's hope you don't let me down again in protecting me, right, Yiwan?"
Russia's smile slowly drips off of his face into a more angered expression.
"But of course. Why would I ever let my Jao-Jao down? We wouldn't want your condition getting out of hand."
Again.
The word is not spoken but both nations think it.
Divided, torn between different warlords, China is mocking and being mocked in return. The door linking their room to the representatives' opens to reveal two optimistic men, oblivious to the tension between their nations and excited for the day that their cooperation may begin.
China does not share the enthusiasm. He dreads it.
..
Russia does not break his agreement. China is taught how to mass mobilize, as Russia did at the beginning of the Great War, and how to wield western weapons. Every day that the two spend in each other's presence, they spend the last moments of it watching the sun fall on the horizon. Its heat and delicious light trickle away into the darkness of night, then the two nations sit on a low wall used in training and watch the stars.
They share mundane conversation, then have talks of things that are not so mundane and trivial. Most every time, Russia remains his normal, cool, passive aggressive self, though China normally has a nerve struck by Russia's probing questions. And every night that they spend in the presence of the other, Russia asks the same question, without fail.
"Do you trust me?"
To which China answers, without fail;
"No."
..1945..
World War Two is finally screeching to a halt, and China stands at the highest point of a battlefield in Manchuria, his amber eyes scanning it for a sign of life.
Nothing.
All there is to see for those eyes is the crumpled bodies of those who have died there.
Chinese.
Japanese.
Russian.
Russia-
Where is he?
China whirls on his heels.
"Russia?"
For a moment, there is no response, and Yao is left to call for the man again, more frantic this time.
"Yiwan?"
There is movement in his peripheral vision, and his head snaps to focus on the source of it. One hulking figure is hunched over a fallen man, and the figure straightens to reveal itself as Ivan.
China couldn't be-
He isn't happy to see Russia.
He is elated.
He bounds to the blonde man, the only vitality in the battlefield, and practically throws himself on him. His short arms cannot wrap all the way around his thick trunk but they try.
"China," Russia laughs. The sound is so light, China clings to it in the dark and deathly place. "What are you doing?"
"Shut up you oaf!"
Russia can only smile as China embraces him from behind. To him it is precious, like a stubborn child finally giving in to hug its mother after being angry at her for some time. He twists within those arms so that China is hugging his front, and pats the dirty black hair. China is worn from battle, but the last of the Japanese have since fled from Manchuria, leaving China a tiny ball of emotions ranging from happy that the invaders are out to misery that millions of his children- mostly civilians- are dead because of his own brother.
For now, he is simply grateful to Russia.
Russia, who aided him and helped to drive Japan out because he and his men are strong and come marching like an entire sea made not of water but of the Red Army.
Many of his men survived as China's and Japan's did, and they too have left.
Russia bends down and pries China off of him so that he can look into those freely crying golden eyes that he has been in love with for as long as he can remember.
"Do you trust me?"
Russia's voice is so soft, and along with his violet eyes gazing tenderly at him, it is burned into China's heart.
China answers without hesitation.
"Yes."
The sun is setting its sleepy head once again, and the warm colors that the sun brings at this time are dancing on China's face while Russia's is engulfed by shadow. Oranges and reds tint his skin, which is littered with dry blood, scrapes, and tiny bruises. Russia brushes ebony hair from that face, so full of possibilities. Now that the war is over, Russia knows that Kai-Shek's followers will resume their fight against Mao's Communists, and civil war will return to China, stronger than before.
"China."
Even still, there is hope in China's eyes as he looks up at Russia, and silently, the latter congratulates the Communists for swaying the opinions of China's people, for bringing them hope under his ways. China's full lips move in response, but the words are lost to Russia, who is mesmerized by the movement. He slowly leans down, closer, and China's face is no longer illuminated by color as it was before. Russia's shadow has cast over his face as the larger nation moves closer and closer, giving his eyes release from the sun. China does not move away. Unlike in times of the past, China is eager for the tender brushing of lips, he wants Russia- Ivan- to capture him, he wants to be wanted, chased, taught the ways of the Red Book.
He wants something to hope for.
A bright future.
Russia takes him and washes the horrors of war away. Even as they stand in the field of dead bodies, their eyes are closed and they have each other to gain heat from in the dying light of the sun.
"I trust you," China murmurs against Russia's thin lips.
So take me and make me whole.
This is what a drabble from yours truly is like.
Yeah, it sucks.
HISTORYTIMES
1923- China pretty much went to Russia for help after the fall of the Qing dynasty, when nobody really knew what to do and the Kuomintang decided to get things in order. The Soviets agreed (duh) and helped teach the KMT. I had China himself being reluctant because later acts showed that the majority of the KMT didn't really like the Communists. There were CPC members in their ranks but not that many. Also, China himself is still bitter over the Opium Wars (shout out to my first fic, Ahen!).
1945- The Japanese left Manchuria, which was pretty much where they started the whole aggressive assholes thing in WW2. The Soviets invaded and took it back yatta yatta hence the kiss.
Yup.
Enjoy my second full oneshot guys!
And PLEASE review and fave if you like!