Another month, another chapter. A surprisingly feel-good(ish) chapter on the heels of what could be rank stupidity from the upper echelons. Oh well. No wars yet.
Also, in case you haven't noticed, this is an AU fic with the addition of children. These children are the manifestation/personifications of important events in wold history. Sometimes they are "born" traditionally, but most of the time they are not. They simply appear and hold on for as long as they are able.
Chapter 3
Russia entered the house in Krakow to the sound of tromping boots. Tossing his heavy coat to a trembling shape in the corner that might have been Latvia or Lithuania, he made his way to the sweeping staircase in what had once been the mayor's house.
He was in a very good mood; his boss had cornered the control over Easter Europe – thank God for the arrogant Americans who had not listened to the cannier British – and he had just finished dragging Hungary out of her lovely city. He smiled. He was going to have to think about expanding his house for all of the new people who would soon be moving into his home, what with Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Ukraine, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria… and now Hungary.
His happy thoughts were abruptly derailed at the sound of a huge crash, not unlike a huge piece of furniture being tossed like pillow across a room, and a sharp scream followed by terrible screeching. With a bit of a sigh, the Slavic country lengthened his stride and took the stairs in four great strides.
There was no surprise when he found Lithuania (so it had been Latvia downstairs) pinned by a huge, solid oak chest of drawers while Poland grappled desperately with a howling Lucia.
"Žudikas! Mėsininkas! Leiskite nulaužti jo kaukolę! Nešvarus Lietuvos!" [Lithuanian for: "Murderer! Butcher! Let's crack his skull! Dirty Lithuanian!"]
Blood was streaming down Toris' face as he lay mortally still on the polished floors. Feliks sobbed wildly as he desperately heaved at the girl's thrashing body.
Russia cocked his head.
Hm.
He stepped forward, grabbed Lucia's deceptively fragile-looking arm, and yanked her clear off Poland with one easy jerk. Wrapping her in the fierce grip of one elbow, the Soviet nation gave the scene in the hall and doorway a rather bored, assessing, look.
"Lithuania. I am thinking that I would like salo tonight. When you are back in one piece, you will begin dinner, da?"
Lithuania opened his mouth and a blood bubble grew and popped. Poland fell to his knees by his old companion's head; tears dripped down steadily onto Toris' forehead.
Russia turned and walked away.
Lucia was still fighting and screaming fluently in Lithuanian as he towed her down the hallway, humming placidly under his breath.
They reached his bedroom, he briskly kicked the door open and dumped her on the bed. "I think you and I are needing a conversation about treating my friends nicely."
"They smashed us," she ranted wildly, rocking on all fours on the bed, her fists digging into the blankets. "They beat us and killed us like animals in the street."
Things like this were happening more and more ever since he had brought her back from Yalta. She was getting confused and prone to wandering through the house at will, attacking those who stumbled into her path. She had thrown Latvia out a third floor window, pushed Ukraine down a flight of stairs… she did not seem to hate Estonia as much and only spit at him (of course, clever little Estonia had taken to staying far out of reach so maybe she simply hadn't gotten her hands on him). Even Poland wasn't always immune; she had thrown things at him, hit him, screamed at him, and once even tried to strangle him.
It had to stop. Russia just didn't have time for it. He would be bringing Hungary back in a few days, once her shattered rib cage and legs had mended enough for her to be brought back. Then sweet little Czechoslovakia would be moving in, Romania, Albania, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia… and of course, Germany and his funny big brother Prussia.
Though he didn't think they would be staying long.
But neither would Lucia. Russia had done his part – he had found her and seen that she was looked after, but she was going to have to be sent away. Let one of the other Allies take care of her.
There were explosions going off in the background. "Look, mate!" England was shouting into the telephone. "I don't have fucking time for this! I've got the sodding Siegfried Line to cope with and God knows where that bastard America is! Whatever it is, you'll have to look after it yourself!"
"Désole, mon ami," France rasped out, sounding exhausted. "Germany's lunatic of a boss has apparently sent his men into my mountains with orders not to come out until every last one of them is dead. I just do not have the time or energy to look after chère Lucie. Perhaps when this is over." [French: "Sorry, my friend"]
"Aiya! Why are you calling me-aru?! I have too much to do! Japan is digging even deeper into my country and my bosses cannot cooperate to deal with such things-aru!"
"Um, hello, Russia? Hi, France said you needed help with something? What do you mean how did I get this number? I'm Cana-" Click.
Russia frowned at the phone. Who had that been? It had sounded like America but whoever it had been hadn't been shouting…
Oh well, on to more pressing matters.
He refused to call America. God only knows how the fool would take seeing the child – it would probably kick his hero obsession into even higher gear.
He had called Luxembourg, but the small country had bluntly informed him he had his own problems and had hung up.
Belgium and the Netherlands had expressed interest but had had to refuse help. "I'm sorry, Russia," Belgium said softly. "But the Nazis have cut off food supplies to my brother. My boss and I have been trying to get aid in for weeks and we just don't have the resources to take on what sounds like another National Personification. Maybe Denmark? I heard Germany's boss like him, he might have extra food?"
"Nej! Have you lost your mind, Cossak? Ever since that damned Nazi broke up my government we've been in chaos! I'm still technically under freaking house arrest ever since I snuck my Jews over to Sweden's place! I've got no time for whatever project you're trying to pawn off on me! And don't you dare bother Norway! He's got it even worse than me!" ["Nej!": Danish for "No!"]
Norway's phone line had been disconnected so bothering him had been a non-issue.
He didn't think Greece had ever actually owned a phone so he was out as well.
So here he was. A major Ally – certainly the one with the greatest number of useful troops – being held back by a child causing him no end of problems and troubles. His boss was furious and was demanding he get rid of her and back to work.
But where was he supposed to send her? He could hardly leave her alone in his house with the others; they had already proven they were not up to the task.
The answer came four days later at the beginning of March.
"Hola, is this Señor Rusia?"
"Da. Who is calling, please?"
"Si, this is España. I am calling for Romano, si? Southern Italy?"
Ah, yes. The Pasta brothers.
"And what is the Southern Italy wanting, please?"
"Well, you see, mi amigo Francis told me that you have been looking for someone to look after a young Personification you found at Poland's house. Romano was wondering if you still needed someone to take care of her."
Russia sat straighter at his desk. Lithuania (still well bandaged from the chest of drawers incident) paused in filing papers and Belarus stopped sharpening one of her many knives to listen.
"I thought that Italy was still fighting against Germany's army. Or getting in the way of the American army. Is Southern Italy so bored that he wants to take on my young guest?"
"Ah, no. Romano was hoping for, let's say, a little distraction for his hermanito. Northern Italy." [Spanish: "little brother"]
Russia's hand tightened just a tad on the phone. "Germany's little friend. Or maybe not so much friend since Italy has become an Ally and left the Axis."
There was a long sigh from Spain's side of the line. "Amigo, it has been a long war and many things have happened. You know this better than I."
No arguing with that.
"Now, would it be possible for you to meet with Romano and Italy to discuss la señorita?"
Romano prowled through the hallways of the Galleria Borghese. He had told his stupid fratellino that several of the Allies would be here today and the little idiota had still refused to come out of his room.
Still sobbing over that damned potato-eating, murdering, Nazi freak. Ever since Romano had realized that fucking El Duce was doing nothing but leading them down a path that would get them all slaughtered, or, worse, occupied by that even bigger fucker, Hitler, he had worked to drag Veneziano away from the Axis and back home.
But the little idiot had refused. Even when the whole of the country had rejected El Duce and surrendered to the Allies, Veneziano had refused to leave that damned Germany. It had only been in the December after America and Britain had invaded Europe that his brother had returned.
For the rest of his life, Romano would never forget seeing his brother wander through the front door of his house in Rome. His uniform as sloppy as ever, fresh bandages on his face, his hat crooked and filthy, and his face frozen in grief and confusion.
All he had been able to say was that Germany had sent him away. The bastard had told him the war was lost. Of course, his moron of a brother hadn't cared, he would have stayed until the end – it wasn't like he was a stranger to losing wars. There had been appeals to his brother's sense of self-preservation: that Russia was going to get him, Britain was going to force him to eat his cooking… but stupid Veneziano had stayed anyway. Romano could just hear his idiot fratellino's voice "We're best friends forever, Germany! Of course, I'm not going to leave you." The stupid potato had tried to order him to leave – Romano could only imagine how that had gone over. He had yelled at Feliciano, called him useless and a coward. But still Italy had stayed loyal – because they were friends.
It had taken Germany asking as a friend to get him to leave.
It had also taken six bottles of Spanish sherry to get the story out of Veneziano. That night he had wept and sobbed so violently the story was almost undecipherable.
Apparently, on December 15th, the day before Germany's idiot leader had tried to drive the Allied Forces out of Europe, the potato-lover had finally taken Veneziano aside. He had not yelled or begged or ordered. As his brother told it, Germany had very quietly asked, in the name of their friendship (damned fucker), for him to abandon the Axis and stay safe with the Allies until it was over.
Veneziano had come through Romano's front door barely ten hours later, looking as though the world was collapsing around him. He had hugged his older brother so tightly it had left bruises and had fallen into deep painful weeping.
Weeping that hadn't stopped since that night.
Now his brother spent every day in bed staring blankly at the wall while tears streamed down his cheeks, refusing to get up to help with the government, shower, even eat. Romano had had to force him to bathe, get out of bed, even drink.
On New Year's Day, he had tried to interest his brother in a fresh bit of pasta with the best tomatoes he could find (frankly they had been shit, but in wartime you had to take what you could get), but Veneziano had stared at him with hollow eyes. "Do you think Germany's coming back, big brother? Or do you think he'll die like Holy Rome?"
Northern Italy, Romano had decided, needed a distraction. Something that was far away from government but would be engaging enough to pull his brother's attention from what was happening in the rest of Europe.
Certainly he didn't seem to have any interest in the country. Romano had only seen this when the Holy Roman Empire fell. Then his brother had shut himself in his home in Venice for so long Austria and Hungary had come and broken down the doors to see if he was still alive inside. The little idiot had barely spoken for a full decade and even then he had not seemed to fully recover until WWI.
Until Germany.
Shit.
That damned potato eater had better not die. He had fucking better stay alive.
Romano shook himself fiercely as he came to his brother's room.
Two weeks ago, Spain had come for a visit, loaded with gossip from France and the other Allies. He had told a story of a child, apparently Germany's. The little girl had been found by Russia at Poland's place and was in need of a caretaker for the rest of the war. Like, say, a depressed country abandoned by his war crazy best friend.
It would be a weight taken off the Allies' minds that they didn't have to worry about a new Personification – it would look good that Italy was contributing.
There was also the fact that if he could not convince the rest of the Allies to give the depressed country something to do, he would be stuck babying his stupid fratellino until Germany came back or… well.
Well.
Anyway.
He opened the door.
Veneziano was lying on his side, facing away from the door and towards the wall. The clothes Romano had set out for him remained untouched on a nearby side table.
"Stupid fratellino," he muttered, approaching.
There was no reply.
"Come on, idiota," he said in the best big-brother voice he could summon. "The Allied Idiots are coming to see us and we need to at least think we're staying out the way."
Silence.
Romano whipped the blankets off of Veneziano and grabbed the other's arm. Then it was a matter of dragging an unresponsive body to the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. It took almost a full thirty minutes to stuff a bit of bread and jam into his brother's mouth and get him to swallow a little coffee. At last, they were sitting in the front parlor, waiting for the doorman to let the visitors in. Veneziano was sitting hunched over in an armchair, his curl drooping, while Romano stood impatiently at his side.
Finally (finally), there was the knock on the door and their visitors entered. France, Britain, Russia and Poland came in. Russia was carrying what had to be the girl, though she was like no girl Romano had ever seen outside of a coffin or a pit of bodies to be burned, while Poland was carrying about four years' worth of clothes in several bulging suitcases.
"Good afternoon, chaps," Britain said, even as he shot look after look at the girl. "I understand that you, Italy, were interested in maybe looking after Lucia here? At least, until Germany is available to tell us a little more about her."
"Germany?" Veneziano had straightened up and was now looking at them. It was the most animation Romano had seen in him since he had come back from the front line.
"Yes, mon frère," France said with a soft smile. "We found this young lady at Poland's house… we think she might be from Germany… one of Germany's children."
Romano glanced at the girl. She was a wretched scarecrow-looking, wisp of thing, dressed in a pale lavender and cream colored dress with a matching hairband wrapped around her head. She was wearing lovely black shoes and clean white knee socks and would have looked quite normal if not for how much they had had to be taken in to account for her emaciated body. Her dark brown hair was the shortest he had seen on a girl outside of a convent, seeming less than an inch from her scalp, and her impossibly thin face seemed even whiter around her stark black eyes.
And her face.
He had never seen such an expression on anyone's – nation or human – face. Something wild, and furious, and dead…
Romano shuddered and glanced at his brother.
Veneziano was sitting upright, staring at the girl with a strange, almost hungry look. "You are from Germany?"
The girl, Lucia, spoke in a dry, tired, voice. "I am here because of what Adolf Hitler has done, and how Germany followed him."
And now his stupid little brother was sitting on the edge of his seat, fists clenched into the knees of his pants. "Bambina, my name is Italia Veneziano. Would you care to tell me your name?" [Italian: "child"]
"Lucia," she rasped. "I am called Lucia."
Veneziano smiled so widely it was utterly ridiculous. "Piacere, Lucia. Would you maybe like to come and stay with me?" [Italian: "Nice to meet you!"]
She didn't answer for a few long moments. "Why would you want me to go home with you?"
Northern Italy stood up and crossed the room to kneel in front of the seat Russia had placed her on. Her feet dangled less than six inches away from his knees. He did not seem to notice that Russia was literally only two feet away. He set his hands down on his knees and leaned forward slightly. "Because I need you. And I think you need me. We can be friends. I will take care of you. I can teach you how to draw and make pasta. We can sing and I'll show you all around my country…"
He paused to draw breath and she broke in. "But why? I do not understand."
Veneziano reached out gently and placed a hand on her sharp cheekbone. The girl went so still under his hand she might have stopped breathing.
"I already told you, Gattina. We need each other." [Italian: "kitten"]
"Is it because I am a part of Germany? Because I hate Germany. I hate him." The strange little face went so vicious and angry, Romano wondered if he should look into summoning an exorcist.
But his idiot fratello only leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. "It's alright. I know Germany has done terrible things. Things that may never be forgiven. I will never ask you to forgive. I only ask that you come home with me and let me take care of you."
"You know I have nightmares. I scream and cry and throw things. I will hurt you. I will hate you. I throw up all the time. I sometimes forget to wear clothes. I forget where I am. I forget my name. I-"
Veneziano kissed her forehead and she stopped speaking. "Bella Lucia. I want you to come and stay with me. I am lonely and I know you are lonely too. Will you come and stay with me?"
No one said anything. Romano felt as though he were trapped in some bizarre fresco; Lucia looking up into his brother's face with a look of confusion and what might have been a bit of shyness. His brother looking down at her as though she were a cross between the Madonna and a plate of exquisite pasta. Britain staring between them looking utterly shocked, while France smiled in satisfaction. Russia looked on with his usual terrifying little smile. Poland watching Lucia with a sad, tired, look that made Romano's insides ache.
The seconds ticked by.
Was she going to say anything? Romano was just getting ready to demand an answer when –
A frail, spindly hand reached up and grasped the hand laid on her cheek. "I think I would like that."
A/N1: Poor Italy, grabbing onto any reminder of Germany that he can. Maybe he can learn to love Lucia for her own sake.
A/N2: Thank you for reading through my work! Thanks to those following my story. And thank you to the person who left me a review - though, next time, I would like a review that's more than "I love the research you've put into this but I can't get behind your premise". Thank you anyway for giving me your time, but that wasn't an entirely helpful review in terms of improving my writing. Also, apologies for responding publicly, but you are a guest so I can't respond privately.
A/N3: I hope everyone is having a Happy Passover, a Happy Easter, or a good weekend. See you in one month.
History lesson time! Fasten your seatbelts for intrigue and the insanity of humanity!
On February 13, 1945, The Soviet forces took Hungary's capital city of Budapest after a 50-day siege. A large group of Hungarian soldiers and their German allies tried to escape the city to continue fighting elsewhere, but they were caught and captured by the Soviets. Hungary, of course, refused to leave her city and fought 'til the bitter end. And until Russia finally just beat her into unconsciousness.
This was just a part of the Soviet Union's plan to retake as much of Eastern Europe as possible to surround itself with as many puppet communist countries as possible. Russia ended up with quite a few houseguests; I'm thinking it made for some crowded, and awkward, family get-togethers. Not that it ended particularly well, but it was a plan that worked… at least until it didn't.
Remember last chapter's history note where it was mentioned that in one Lithuanian town, citizens drove their Jewish neighbors into the town square and proceeded to beat them death, after which some guy with an accordion stood on the bodies to play a merry little tune? Well… Lucia does. She really does.
In my AU, as a Personification/Manifestation starts to settle into itself as an individual, the different aspects and memories of what it represents are assimilating into that individual's memories and experiences. So Lucia is taking in everything that is going, or has, gone on, in the Holocaust and related events and they are becoming a part of her, all of which has made her even more unstable.
Radomir, as I have mentioned before, is my OC for St. Petersburg/Moscow. He is a Personification/Manifestation because of the struggle that the Russians went through to win the land from Sweden and the shit they had to go through to build the damn city – really, it was intense, just look up the history of the city.
Also, the Pyotr Russia mentions is Peter the Great, a famous Tsar of Russia.
British soldiers were busy fighting their way across France and Germany when they hit the Siegfried Line, which was a defensive line of bunkers and obstacles set up by the Germans. As I understand it, the Germans would strategically retreat each time the Allies would beat them bloody, then make them do the same thing again and again.
"Alex" is actually Alexander, my OC for the alliance between America and Britain. He began taking space during the Great Rapprochement, when America and Britain finally started talking to each other without trying to toss each other out of windows and down stairs. He officially took shape around WWI and splits his time between his dads' houses, but at this particular moment in WWII, he is fighting his way through Italy with the American army.
Even though the Allies had technically "freed" France from Nazi rule, there was still a healthy number of German soldiers still in France that had to found and defeated. Definitely kept the French Resistance and Free French Army busy.
China was having his own difficulties with Japan. Add to that he was having trouble with the growing Communist faction coming into conflict with the existing government over the tactics to use. Many historians believe that this inability of the Chinese government to balance the different views of the higher-ups led to the unnecessary deaths of thousands of soldiers and civilians.
Canada is often forgotten in WWII. But let's not forget how much ass they kicked and how much flack they took from the time they landed on D-Day with the other Allies and how fiercely they fought. Netherlands certainly hasn't. Just ask the tons of tulips he still sends Canada every year.
Luxembourg was one of the main battlegrounds for the Battle of Bulge, which killed many of his citizens and destroyed quite a few of his towns. Basically, he was in full damage control until about May 1945 when life started to go back to normal for him and his citizens.
Due to the fierce Dutch resistance efforts, as well as the support liberating Allies had received from the Dutch citizens, The Nazis had decided that the Dutch should be punished via starvation. They refused to provide more food when the food the Dutch had stored for the Winter of 1944 ran out. At least 18,000 people died of starvation and the number would almost certainly have been much higher if not for the food provided by the Allies, most notably the Canadians, in May 1945. Until then, the Dutch were subsisting on flour smuggled in from other countries and air dropped food packages.
Denmark was actually quite liked by Hitler, due to his Viking history and his people's tendency towards blond hair, blue eyes, and those other Aryan traits he believed to be so important. This came to a halt when the Nazis demanded all Resistance members and saboteurs be put to death and the Nazis took total control of the Danish government. It also didn't help that the Danish people as almost a collective whole helped to smuggle their Jewish neighbors across the North Sea into Sweden where they would be safe. More than 90% of Danish Jews survived WWII, compared to the 10% of Polish Jews who survived.
The Norwegian people were subject to harsh economic repression and many were deprived of food. It is especially famous for the activity of its Resistance, which frequently sabotaged trains, submarine building, and the development of Germany's nuclear energy department.
Greece was the Nazis' whipping boy. Germany was not particularly impressed that Greece had been hurting his friend Italy and thus imposed harsh treatment on the Greeks. The Nazi occupation trashed the Greek occupation (which came back to bite Germany hard in the ass), destroyed most of the country's infrastructure, and killed thousands of civilians.
After Italy's army had taken Ethiopia, the population was pretty content to rest on that conquest and not go any further. But once Germany was busy kicking asses across Europe, Benito Mussolini decided to get in on the action. Italy himself was happy to be with his best friend, but Romano and the rest of the Italian people weren't so onboard with another war. And once things started getting really bad (cough-Stalingrad-cough), Italians really wanted out of the war. On October 1943, the overall Italian government officially became an Ally, turning its back on Germany and the Axis. Of course, a great deal of Italians still wanted to stay with the Germans, leading to a Civil War between the two Italys. Romano was not pleased.
On December 16, 1944, Nazi forces stormed through the Allied line in the Ardennes forest in what would become the Battle of the Bulge. The Battle of the Bulge was a fairly useless gesture on the part of the Germans; there were simply too many Allied soldiers to drive out by that point and the Germans just didn't have the strength or resources to do the job. To give them their due, they certainly gave the Americans hell, but once the weather improved, the Germans were completely driven out by the Allied tanks and air forces.
Germany was well aware of the overall futility of the plan and knew the war was over. So he told Italy to get out while he still could.
