Chapter 7: конец, 結束, and The End

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia, this is just our hentai fantasies that we have decided to share with whoever wants to read this. Feel free to flame but if you do please flame appropriately, no bad grammar and actually have a problem with it (who knows we might be able to fix it), don't flame just to flame…save yourself the embarrassment.
- Beer and Vodka Editor

'Damn why does my house have to be so big?' Russia asked himself as he darted down the dark empty halls, half drunk.

When he thought he saw China down another hall he tried to make a sharp turn but ended up slipping and knocking one of the paintings of the Tsars off the wall with a loud bang echoing throughout the halls. He was sure the frame broke in some way, but he didn't care.

He got back onto his feet and ran down the hall to find it a dead end. Perhaps he didn't see him there.

Russia fell to his knees. He didn't want to have China leave like this. Putting together, all of China's actions and his nightmare, Russia finally understood what he was upset about. If not the details, he knew what was bothering him.

He had a bloody past where the moment things got good for once, it all went downhill quickly. Much like the time when he finally was able to grow sunflowers. He was so proud, even though it was still chilly, just seeing the flowers made him warm and happy. But as fate had it, a storm struck two days after they bloomed and destroyed them and a horrible frost made the patch of land unable to grow anything ever again.

Russia felt something cold sting his legs through his pants and when he touched the spots he realized it was wet. Tears fell onto his hands and soon grew cold. Such as it is in Russia, the only feeling of warmth you can have is with another and even then, like now, only lasts for a short time.

He's heard it from France and the others. 'It must be nice at your house. You have so many friends who live with you.' It was all a lie. Even though they have been together, Latvia, Estonia and even his beloved Lithuania never cared for him. They stuck around to comfort him when he was drunk and upset, not as friends helping someone they love, but as people trying to insure that their abuser doesn't grow to be cross and beat them to an inch of their life. Who's to say he wouldn't?

Still, he's heard them talk when they thought he wasn't around. They all conspired against him. Even his people conspired against him.

China must be going through something just as painful as this. Russia stood back up and wiped the tears off his face. They felt as cold as the snow. He spun back around and darted through the halls, continuously yelling China's name. With every time he yelled "Wang Yao!" down the halls, he got closer to crying again.

"Wang Yao!" The moonstones glittered dangerously, the surface of Mars quaked. Or perhaps it was him that was shaking with cold and fear and...tiredness.

"Wang Yao!" He turned to a big tan thing trying to barrel into him. His eyes widened slightly. With a slight pang of fear, he turned and started running. Running and running and running...

Russia finally saw China and with a sense of relief began to smile. But the moment he almost caught up to him, China bolted down the hall. "Wha--" Russia nearly stopped in his track. It was like some twisted nightmare. He almost wondered if the earlier events had just ben a dream of his, if they were, they were some dream.

He picked up his pace and ran as fast as his body would let him, he had surprising stamina for a guy his size. "Wang Yao! Wait! Don't run! Please stay!" Russia was almost crying again, and in a sudden act of desperation caught him by the arm and pulled him close. "Please stop! I-I need you!" Russia squeezed China. "I really need you. So, please!"

It was dream, China was certain of that now. A wicked, twisted dream in which the world conspired against him. He ran face-first into one of those huge pillars that seemed to adorn Russia's house all over--he slumped and moaned, a hand coming to his face. China grimaced.

His face was a bloody mess (as was the rest of his body, his mind cruelly whispered, reminding China of what transpired between him and Russia). And the vodka...what happened to the vodka? He tried to remember, but his eyes closed softly, a quick fluttering of eyelashes. It felt almost like the time, so many years ago, that England had come and brought the opium along with him. Only opium never hurt this much.

Russia just stood in shock when China had pulled himself away and face first into the pillar. He wondered if China was sane, but remembered the 3-4 bottles they downed, it could just be the booze acting up.

Russia knelt in front of China and stared at him for a moment before grabbing him again, rotating on the balls of his feet and placing him firm against the pillar. Russia's grip tightened, almost threateningly. "Yao..." He turned and cursed in Russian as he struggled not to cry. "Yao, you're..." he struggled for words. "I don't know what you think you are, but...you can't survive outside like this." He tightened his grip again. "Think of your people...think of me."

Russia stood up and pulled China with him. "I-I actually thought you'd be different. That you wouldn't run away from me. But I guess..." Russia paused, his hands shaking. "I'm going to have to make you stay." He tightened his grip again, sure it would hurt China but didn't ease. Then he whispered, more to himself than to anyone. "I-I don't want to hurt you, but it's the only way to keep you."

-----

He woke up in an iron birdcage, one of those that he remembered seeing the British enclose birds in, a long, long time ago. Only this was so much bigger. He was dressed in a qipao, one of those long and elaborately embroidered ones the emperor had the concubines wear, in some dynasty long ago (the alcohol was finally acting up, as he knew it somehow would).

He lay on the floor, black hair spilling around his shoulders to pool on the iron floor (how ironic, it was as cold as Russia was). He wasn't chained...but his mouth was dry, like the top of the mountains by Tibet...what were they called again? He involuntarily moved his hands, but the pain in simply moving forced a heartfelt groan out of him.

Russia walked back into the room that Lithuania had been familiar with his first year with him, but this time, he was not allowed anywhere near it. Russia wore his usual clothes except he wore an ushanka with the soviet star in front.

He stumbled over to the cage a half empty bottle of vodka on his right hand. He raised his left hand in a fist to his mouth and let out a loud cough to get China's attention. Once he had China's eyes he spoke. "Did you sleep well?" The words coming out in a drunken slur.

Russia. Oh...God. China found it sickeningly ironic that he was praying to the one being he would never have allowed in his country, but these past 200 years were moving too fast for him, and more and more of his people tried to accept someone other than themselves. A higher being.

As to Russia's question, China considered the answers. Russia's state of drunkenness was bleary and tired and drop dead drunk, like he hadn't gotten in years. "More or less..." he said cautiously.

Russia attempted to raise an eyebrow, but in his state of drunkenness, he blinked and rose both instead. He grabbed one of the bars and drank more of the vodka before setting to down by his feet. He put one hand in the cage and motioned his finger in a command for China to come to him.

China eyed the finger warily. He got to his feet (with a little difficulty) and walked towards Russia.

He hated the feel of the qipao. He never wore silk anymore, but when he did, he almost always reverted to gliding, just as the happy times in his family long ago had dictated. But he remained silent.

Russia kept motioning for China to get closer until he was within reach. Russia gave him a cold empty look, partly because of the vodka, and with surprising contrast, gently cupped China's cheek. His eyes trailed down China's body, absorbing what they can of his image. Finally he spoke, but not in a slurred mess, it was clear. "You look good in that."

He felt like falling asleep, the alcohol was taking its toll on him. Just a few minutes ago, he ignored Estonia's warnings of the side effects of downing 4 bottles of vodka on his own. Russia didn't care, he grew up on vodka.

Now that he thought about it, when had he start drinking vodka? He could remember when he was a kid, he was freezing as usual and his scarf that was given to him wasn't helping as much as he had hoped. He shivered at the memory of the blizzard then. His sister Ukraine shown up with a strange bottle and asked him to drink some, saying it'll help him sleep and keep him warm. Russia looked down at the bottle by his feet. He's sure it was vodka that she gave him because he remembers its burning taste. But he hadn't drank it much after that. After a few centuries though, it just blurred into a habit of his.

His head felt heavy, and forgetting that he was talking to China, he rested his head on the bars, pushing the ushanka up his head, nearly making it fall off. Half dazed and drowning in old memories he muttered something to China in Russian, but the words were so slurred no one would be able to make out what he spoke.

"You look tired," and the older nation cupped a hand around the other's face. China blinked a little at his actions. He used to do it all the time to Taiwan and Hong Kong and Japan and Korea when they were under his care, but what prompted him to do it now?

Russia dropped his hands from the cage and let them hang at his side. He let his head sink lower until the ushanka fell onto the floor.

He was lost in the cold wintry snow of his memories, back when his sister Ukraine gave up any form of warmth of hers to take care of him. Realizing how she helped him, he remembered the one promise she ever asked him. 'Please make Kiev successful.' He was sure she had evil intentions, but she raised him and protected him or at least tried, from Belarus. His eyes began to water up and tears fell. He'll blame the vodka later, but he wanted to cry on his own and there by the cage, where he made so many cry, his deeds finally caught up to him.

"...I'm sorry..." He whispered. He spoke to himself. "...I didn't do what you asked Yekaterina...Kiev was a failure..." He slumped down and picked up the bottle again and swirled around its transparent contents almost in a fixed trance.

China closed his eyes. "Ivan." He tried to make his voice forceful and strong, a pillar to dig your nails into and pull yourself up. "Ivan." It seemed like Russia was getting farther and farther away. "Ivan!" China stretched out one arm and snagged the vodka out of Russia's hand. He retreated into his cage and took a swig of that clear, deceptively tasteless liquid.

Russia snapped out of his trance and looked up. He completely forgot where he was, one minute he was huddling close to Ukraine and Belarus trying to keep warm, the next he was in the room where he places all his new territory in to break. Why was he here again?

He looked at his empty hand and turned to China who was finishing off the vodka. He felt dizzy and sat in the chair against the wall by the cage. It wasn't a soft sitting, he more fell into the chair than anything.

He rested his head on the cage and saw his forgotten ushanka on the floor. Dazed, he held out a hand trying to reach it from his spot. "Oh no, you're leaving me to?"

"Don't you want more, Ivan?" China felt his heart break into pieces. Not Russia's, his. He couldn't care about anyone, not anymore. He had so wanted to take care of someone, but refused to follow up. He twirled his tongue around the bottle neck, like it was the other's cock. What was he doing? He didn't know. Not anymore--this wasn't even China, anymore. This was just a mortal human body, wracked with pains.

Russia looked up at China and saw him teasing the bottle neck. As if a slap to the face, he broke out of his drunkenness and stared at China. "What are you..."

"Playing." His voice felt detached from his body. "Just like I played with you, Ivan. Just like how we were never each others'. Just like how I'm in this cage and you're out there. Ivan Bravinsky..." China turned his head away from Russia and mouthed three soft words. "I love you." He closed his eyes and shattered the vodka bottle.

Russia stood up and nearly fell. Mentally, he was out of his drunken stupor but physically... not so much. "Yao..." Russia spoke, holding on the bars of the cage for support. He looked around, in search of words. "Maybe you're right. It was fun playing with you...it really was. And yeah, we never were each others...."

He let out a hollow laugh as he stumbled to the door, having to hold onto the frame for support. "I guess I was foolish to think that we were...After all I lo--"

There was a crash down in the hall and Estonia's voice floated by warning Latvia about what would happen if Russia found out they were sneaking vodka.

It was easy to pick the lock. He had done so, many times, when the nation who had raised him to who he was (he couldn't remember who it was--maybe he had raised himself?) locked him in a room and left him there.

China rose to his feet (he was barefoot) and walked out, towards Russia. He ignored the crunching glass underfoot. He ignored the blood red that stained the floor. Really, he ignored everything but Russia, swaying as Estonia lectured Latvia on vodka.

China walked up to Russia, silently--gliding, almost, but he was too drunk to even consider it--and wrapped two silk-covered arms around the other's waist. They fell backwards into the room.

Russia was going to go yell at them for wasting his precious vodka. Just as he let go of the doorframe, he was stopped by something. He looked down to see silk sleeves. He twisted his head around and saw China behind him, cage door open, and bloody foot prints.

He had no idea how he got out of his containment but he didn't feel like questioning it. There was, however, one simple question that slipped out. "Why are you holding me?"

Without waiting for an answer he looked down the hall. "Since you're out, I guess I can't stop you. You're free to..." he hesitated, he hated to say it, and knew he had to say it. First time he ever said it was to Lithuania, even though this is the second time, it hurt even more. Perhaps it's because it wasn't a master/servant relationship that they had, or that he was going to miss the abusing and violating. He was going to miss the only warmth and true (even though it was drunken) smile and willingness to be with him.

Besides, China was the first person he... "...to leave me..." The words came out as a muffled sob as he struggled not to show his pain.

Was the vodka really getting to him, China wondered, or was it just...Russia? It seemed that his broken eyes were even more beautiful in the sad light, choking back tears and making them shine with a film of salty water. Crying the sea. With a heave, he managed to flop Russia's weight on top of his (and end up on the floor).

There wasn't that much of a crash, but all the same, Estonia's voice quieted a little before starting back into full tirade. Russia just stared blankly to the side of China's face, trying to focus in on Estonia's voice.

"Yao, what are you doing? Don't you want to leave here? Isn't that why you broke out?"

"Vodka," he grunted. "I don't know...something...made me remember it like it was opium. But I wasn't as...mobile...as I am under the influence of vodka..."

China looked down...or rather, turned his head to the side. He had a feeling that his cheeks were a burning, bright fire red, splotched across his face. "Moonstones...and mars..." he muttered. "I...don't know what that was about."

Russia looked at China curiously, then muttered. "Maybe I should keep you from drinking so much, da? I-it's not good for you..." After feeling a shot of guilt and hypocrisy he turned away. "Your face is cute, I mean red."

So gentle, it was odd to see Russia not pouncing on him and simply...also blushing. China blinked. And blinked, yet again. "So much...or perhaps it was simply the vodka..." he said, lips curving into a small smile.

Russia gave China a cold look, at least as cold as he can muster up. "Go." He forced himself onto his feet and teetered back. He gestured out the door. "You obviously only want out of here." Russia turned, he felt dizzy and sick. He was either going to pass out drunk or start throwing up, he could never tell which one it would be. Either way, he didn't want to worry China over it. Though, he was personally hurt by China's attempt to escape and the personality changes. The person he thought was to be the one to change him for the better, perhaps was just a drunken image of another who would rather have nothing to do with him. He swayed in his spot.

"J-just go already...You got out, now go. What is it that Ludwig says...when you're in the hands of the enemy you should always try to escape, well you're almost done...now g--" He stopped and grabbed hold of the wall. He was going to pass out, he could feel his consciousness leaving him.