When You Can't Beat Them, Become One
Sometimes there are things you'd rather not do. Like the dishes. Or laundry. Or running a massive network of syndicated crime. Small things. Ivan never intended to take over the mob, and Yao never meant to go near it again. Ro/Ch
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Author's Note: Uh, so, hi! *waves shyly* This is my first time writing a fic., and I'm not much of a writer to begin with, so, please don't eat me fore the fail!eage? ;__;
Warnings: This fic. is an AU, uses almost entirely human names, and will eventually be Russia/China. Historical accuracy will be abused. Rated for my sense of humour and some rather frank talk about cadavers.
Anyway, I don't own Hetalia, I am not a writer, do & will not claim to be, and have created this fic. for non-profit reasons. No harm intended, mn? X__x;
Please review if you read! It would make me stupidly happy~
Notes about naming: Russia/Ivan may be referred to as 'Vanya' (a common pet-name for 'Ivan') by his siblings. I know that Ukraine technically has no name, but I see people calling her Yekaterina a lot, so I went with that. 'Katyusha' is a random diminutive form of Yekaterina, and will be used by her family as her pet-name. I hope that this doesn't confuse anyone!
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Basic colour theory states that the combination of two or more hues will produce a new one. For example, that midnight blue and an iridescent red might create an interesting shade of deep purple.
Ivan had never painted, but he knew this from books. Red and blue make purple! Even if you add white.
When moving liquid suddenly stops, it splatters.
If the fluid is pigmented, then it will leave a mark.
When two objects with opposing forces meet, the weaker one will eventually break.
He hadn't meant to break them.
He had just wanted to help.
Ivan, Ivan!
Was that Yekaterina?
Ivan!
She was crying? Oh, that's right...
"Sorry, I didn't mean to spill our soup. I can make more for everyone later, da?"
"That--that's not what I--"
"And I'll clean up the mess, too, so, don't worry."
"No, you--oh gods, Vanya, I'm so sorry. I should have..."
"Hmn?"
-- Two days Prior --
"Natalia, love, I know you're excited, but could you please try to keep your porridge in its bowl?" Yekaterina let loose a soft, kittenish chuckle at the sight of her younger sister's glee. Somehow, it made their dinner of porridge (and only porridge) seem like a feast. Happiness is such an interesting thing.
"But, the head of my class! The student president! Can you believe it? The school said that I had presence, brother! Presence! And that I was good at getting people to make up their minds!" as usual, the only person Natalia felt the need to listen to was their brother, Ivan.
"Katyusha is right, Natalia--it's not good to waste food," Ivan began, stopping Natalia's excited bouncing in its tracks, "but I'm very proud of you, da! I'm glad that your teachers see what a good leader you'll be! I can't wait to tell everyone at work about what a clever little sister I have." Natalia's face flushed at the compliment, and suddenly her porridge seemed very interesting. Either that or tucking her nose in a bowl was the most convenient way to hide the fact that she was blushing.
"Thank you very much brother! I'll try to do a good job!"
"You will naturally! I know it."
Yekaterina laughed, full and content for the first time in years. Perhaps they finally had something to thank their father for. He'd been missing for the past week and, unkind as it was to think, their lives had been brighter because of it. Things were never so happy when that man was around. He was an awful, violent beast with an addiction to gambling and far too thorough an understanding of the human mind to do anyone any good.
It was beneficial to be aware of the feelings of other people, but not to the point of reading them like novels. Maybe, it would be alright if used to help, but when used to hurt...
"Katyusha? Is everything alright?" Natalia broke her older sister's reverie with a purposeful shake of a porridge-coated spoon. Hadn't Yekaterina told her to stop wasting porridge earlier?
"Ah, I'm sorry! I'm just...happy."
"Katyusha, too? Being happy makes me so sleepy, da~" her brother stood as he spoke, wheeling around his chair lazily to snatch their youngest sibling before making his way back around towards Yekaterina's end of the table, "why don't you two head upstairs for a bath? I want to wash the dishes tonight, da?" it had been phrased as a question (sort-of), but the fact that both girls were left standing outside the door of the kitchen upon its completion left no room for argument. They would bathe, they would relax, and he would take care of business.
Typical Ivan.
Yekaterina adored him.
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"So, you haven't heard where your father is is and have made no contact with him yourself." the police officer, one Sgt. Germania, didn't look convinced. That was a shame. Ivan understood that the man was only doing his job, but having come home to two scared, crying sisters and one unsympathetic cop, it was easy enough to not care. Natalia and Katyusha had been in such high spirits the night before, too~ Hadn't anyone told the good Sgt. that it wasn't nice to use scare-tactics on children?
"No, sir. And no one in this house is over the age of sixteen, let alone eighteen, so I don't know what you might be implying." Of course, Ivan knew that children murdered their parents all the time (well, not all the time), but without a mother or sibling old enough to take custody, the death of their father would put them at risk for being split up in the foster system. So, despite his being a violent, vile excuse for a person, it was in their family's best interest that their father stay living.
"You're the oldest?" the man blinked, visibly disturbed by Ivan's words.
"No, sir. I'm the middle child. Yekaterina is the oldest--she's sixteen. I'm twelve, and Natalia is eight."
"You're twelve." it wasn't a question, but for all the disbelief in official's voice, it might have been. Ivan couldn't really blame the man. He was tall for twelve, and heavily built. It allowed him to hold a job at the docks, for which he was thankful (no one even thought to ask his age), but meant that he ate more and got turned away frequently for children's ticket and meal deals.
"Here's my school I.D." the laminated card was presented to the officer almost immediately, as Ivan had been expecting that evidence would be required.
"Would you mind if I give them a call?"
His school? Yes? Because of work Ivan rarely attended. A call to them would be bad. The man was just prying. He needed to leave. "Sgt. Germania, please feel free do whatever you think will help."
"Of course. Mr.--?"
"Braginski."
"Then, Mr. Braginski, I thank you for your time."
"Likewise."
If the air around them weren't enough to make one shiver, the combination of the youth's soft, innocent voice and piercing, calculating words it spoke would be.
Sgt. Germania trudged across the small, snow-covered yard to his car. Outwardly, he looked annoyed with the weather, but Ivan could tell by the shake of the detective's hands that his message had gotten through:
None of what you're doing right now is valuable. Please leave and make yourself useless somewhere else.
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"So, how did it go?" Germania's partner, Sgt. Rome prodded as he set about destroying an innocent muffin. It was obviously freshly-made and smelled delicious, "you want some?"
"No, I would not like a muffin. Where did you get that from, anyway? Weren't you supposed to stay here in the car and wait?"
"They're blueberry muffins." Rome waved one of the baked goods in question beneath Germania's nose--it was, indeed, blueberry. His favourite.
"I will drop the topic for two muffins."
A second muffin appeared from the depths of Roma's paper bakery bag, and the car fell silent. Germania took a bite.
Someday, muffins will be worshipped as deities.
"The questioning...?" Rome prompted, after a moment had been given for his partner to fully appreciate the pastry.
"Don't mention it or I won't be able to eat."
"Oh? I heard that two cute girls live there." The curls of Rome's brown hair bobbed in delight as he spoke. Classic.
"They're both minors, and they also have a brother."
"Is he a minor?"
"Yes! Did you even read the report?"
"You know, in ancient times, some men preferred young boys over either women or men."
"Rome, that's called paedophilia. And people still are guilty of it today."
"Oh...say, did I show you the new picture of my grandsons?"
"Why did you think of that in relation to our conversation about paedophilia?!"
"I didn't! I thought of it in relation to muffins! We went and got some the other day, and--" Germania felt the unease caused by his questioning session with the Braginski's melting away. He'd have to remember to thank his partner later: the flames of Rome-induced fury burnt away emotions like little else.
"The questioning was creepy as shit." there. Confession complete. He'd been scared off by a kid.
"Whoa. Germaia? This is coming from you? I mean, obviously, but...?"
"The girls were your typical abuse case-types, but the brother...I would ask the kid a question to gauge his reaction, and he'd answer with something having to do with my motivation."
"Example?"
"When asked how he and his sisters had been getting along, he said that they were no better or worse off than any other children in their situation might be."
"Uhm, that just sounds awkward. Are you sure you weren't terrorised by the awkward?"
"When first asked if anyone had stopped by, he said that he and his siblings had no connections with or knowledge of his father's contacts, personal life, etc. then proceeded to list off everything he knew before asking me to be more direct with the remainder of the interview."
"And how old is he?"
"Twelve."
"Okay, that's creepy."
"I've spoken to the girls separately, and neither seem exactly distressed about their father's disappearance. More than anything they're uneasy about the fact that they don't seem concerned enough. Though, I think their brother made pretty clear that this was a logical response."
"So, they don't get along with their father?"
"You really haven't read the report, have you." there was no longer any question. If he had, Rome wouldn't be asking something quite so stupid. Furthermore, shouldn't he have known that the son is twelve?
"I dun'no--sometimes people are total jerks to the world in general and nice to their family."
"Not applicable. You should have seen their house. These kids barely have anything to wear, let alone eat." upon hearing this, all signs of cheer were erased from Rome's countenance. If there's one thing he will not abide, it's unkindness towards children."Did you follow up the leads about their father's late wives?"
Rome nodded, and placed the bag of muffins on the dashboard, replacing it with a manila folder that had previously sat to the side of his seat, "Both cases were declared accidents at the time, but are pretty glaringly suspicious."
"Elaborate?"
"His first wife, the mother of the two oldest, Yeh-kat--uhhh..."
"Yekaterina."
"Right. Russian names, tricky to pronounce."
"Of course."
"So, the first wife is the mother of Yekaterina and Ivan and the second wife is the mother of Natalia. The children are sixteen, twelve, and eight, respectively."
"They have different mothers?" That was new.
"Oh? Yes. It's like I said." Rome grabbed another muffin from the pastry bag, former seriousness temporarily forgotten, "both of them were quite beautiful, too."
"That has even more to do with the case than your inability to pronounce names."
"Hmn? What was that?" Rome seemed genuinely confused.
"Nothing. Please continue." Germania took another muffin for compensation.
"Right, so, the first wife was found in a river a week after leaving her husband. The body was in no condition to declare a cause of death."
"Cold case?"
"No, interestingly, it was declared an accident and dismissed." okay... There was something they'd have to remember...
"And the second wife?"
"It's tagged as a traffic collision, but there were no skid marks on the road, and the victim's body was recorded to have sustained fatal injuries prior to the time of the crash. No mention or suspicion of foul play."
"Right. So, basically, any women involved with this man are killed after leaving him and the cases get dismissed."
"Basically." the pair was silent. In their city this all pointed to one thing: their missing person was a high-ranking member of a mafia group.
The case had just gotten about a hundred times more dangerous.
"Shit."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."
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*coughs* So, yeah... X____x; We'll be working up to the event that started this chapter (yay for vagueness) in chapter two. Thank you for taking the time to read~ 3
Random apologies to Rome and Germania for abusing the life out of them~ '___';;; I bet they like muffins, right? :D *gets shot*
Random Ending Notes & Questions:
Pairings: Other than Russia/China, I'm planning on: US/UK, France/Canada, and Prussia/His Awesome (I think I'm joking about that last one...maybe... XD ). Any votes for pairings other than these?
About 'The Mafia:' To make things easier on me and avoid any accidental similarities (no, seriously, don't kill me~ ;___; ), all organised criminal groups shall be known as 'the [insert country here] mafia' or 'the [insert country here] mob.' This world has a really, really simple set-up for the politics of crime, da? XD Just dismiss it the same way you do flying wizards, m'kay? :D If I depicted crime syndicates overly realistically, there'd be no room for the rest of the story~ ^___^;;; Consider yourselves warned.
Anyway, if you've read this far, I officially gift you with an award of tolerance. *gifts*
Reviews are appreciated beyond what I can convey, and will make me excited about writing--which will make writing easier (and updates faster)~
Whether this is a curse or blessing, remains to be decided. '__'; Thank you again~
*passes out the remainder of Rome & Germania's blueberry muffins*
