Okay every one, Hetalia season 5 is here. I saw the first episode and they all look great! The artwork has been drastically improved and I'm hyped for the rest of the show! Three years of Japanese paid off for these five minutes of no subtitle anime. Ah, language how useless… um I mean useful.
…Oh, and here's chapter 8! Have I mentioned that I love this chapter? Because I do. A lot. This is like, one of my favorites. I'm supper happy and proud about it.
I don't own Hetalia. This is in no way, shape, or form, real. This is entirely fictional and in no way an accusation, political statement, or anything like that. Any similarities to real people, living or otherwise, are completely coincidental and is in no way meant to be offensive. Also, I'm not saying that anyone who lives in the south (of the U.S or anywhere else for that matter) is bad, or racist! No matter where someone lives or where they were born a person should only be judged by their actions, not by things they can't control. At least, that's what I think.
Happy reading!
Pure Violet Is Killing Me
Chapter 8
Eyes
…
Alfred felt somewhat strange walking next to Ivan in the middle of Moscow without his invisibility suit. After everything that had happened and all the things Ivan had told him, spoken or otherwise, Alfred's relationship towards Ivan was drastically different. It wasn't a rivalry or even a truce between two conflicting nations. It was more like… a friendship, a mutual trust and respect for one another. Ivan and Alfred had seen sides of each other that they thought could never be there.
Ivan wasn't some dark terrifying monster that only cared about himself. In fact he was kind and sweet, empathetic and compassionate. He'd do anything for his people and always puts them in front of himself.
And Alfred wasn't an ignorant fool who obsesses over fame and fortune. He was a bright, joy filled, and hopeful person. If not a tad naive. But that was what made him so brave. Even if the odds were stacked against him, if everything was went wrong, he would push on. He would persevere until all sadness had been vanquished. He was a sweet, kind hearted fool.
"Wait, wait, wait! I thought you just said not to call you by that name. Know I need to?" Alfred asked feeling very confused and lost, and sounding very annoying and idiotic to Ivan.
Ivan looked to Alfred with an irritated look. "Do you want to get caught? Oh yes, I'm sure 'Hey Russia how's that pirozhki?' won't attract any attention." Ivan then continued to roll his eyes and continued to prepare.
Ivan's face was mostly blank, Alfred noticed as they walked the cold streets. It was cold, limited, and controlled like the rest of people walking past them.
The trees were beautiful. Alfred had always loved winter scenery. The way the pure white untouched snow laid so delicately on the branches of dark brown trees was truly glorious. But these trees were other worldly. These trees were something he could have never even imagined. The bark of each tree, that were scattered across this grey and dying city, looked as black as the never ending night sky compared to fragile, silver snow which lay on their tiny, boney, branches.
And yet on these dying, hopeless trees, in this desolate, lost city, it was as if each snowflake had its own spot on each tree. As if they were placed ever so gently by angels. They all had a place, a purpose, to create this magnificent sight. The glimmering white shining from the snow was the brightest he had ever seen.
The light was so amazing.
Alfred knew that when the sun shone onto glassy shining snow it would light up as if each flake of snow was its own bright, shining star in the black night sky. This light was over whelming.
That beautifully fragile, purely white, snow shone so bright despite the dark and grim branches it lay on. Though it was in the blackest of black and darkest of dark that weak, fragile, delicate snow shone as brightly as an angel's heavenly light.
Alfred blinked. A snowflake had landed on his nose, breaking his concentration. He looked up at the sky and saw that it had begun to snow. He rubbed his hands together trying to get them working. His fingertips felt like ice. Though he loved the winter scenery, he really did hate the cold. Always needing to bundle up in layers of coats, and sweaters, and wearing multiple layers of socks under heavy boots, and hats, and gloves, and ear muffs, was such a hassle. And he still hadn't invented a way to keep his face warm without looking like he was either going skiing or robbing a bank…
Still, he was cold and the lack of sleeves wasn't help either.
"Do I really have to put a tux on? It's hard to believe that a rebel group is meeting in secret at a fancy restaurant." Alfred complained as he finished buttoning up his tuxedo.
"Yes." Ivan said finishing his own dressing.
Alfred turned to the silver haired man who was waiting behind him. Ivan wore a light violet vest, which matched his eyes perfectly, over a white button up long sleeved shirt. His scarf was neatly tucked underneath his vest, creating a blooming appearance that resembled a lion's mane. His shirt and vest were fitted, showing off his chiseled features. You could just see the outline of his muscled arms from white fabric clinging to his skin, while the violet silk vest elongated his already tall figure. His sleek, ironed, black trousers matched the shining black shoes on his feet. His chest was puffed out and his broad shoulders stood tall and firm. With his hair combed back and sophisticated expression on his face Ivan looked so confident, so brave, so unquestionable.
It was all an act though. Ivan knew he was on duty. He knew that he would need to kill that day. This was merely a uniform, a disguise used to enter the battle field in secret. He hated these clothes, not because of the style or the fit or anything trivial like that. No it was because of the –
"Sleeves."
Alfred raised his right eyebrow in question, "What do you mean 'sleeves'?"
Ivan looked at Alfred's elegantly dressed physique. "You can't wear that."
"Why?" Alfred asked, feeling a bit frustrated. It was a perfectly normal tuxedo. Black with a white button shirt, a penguin vest thing, shoes, pants, bowtie, what was wrong with it? He didn't want to change just because Ivan didn't prefer his fashion sense! Plus, it took him forever to get that thing on.
Ivan let out a slightly broken sigh, "The sleeves are too long."
Alfred immediately brought his wrists to his face and looked intently at his sleeves, trying to find this invisible flaw. He stood there for a while staring at his sleeves, inspecting them for whatever Ivan was talking about. But he couldn't find anything wrong with them. They were the perfect length, if not a tad too short.
"No, they're fine." Alfred said after a few moments of deliberation, in case he had missed something.
A wave of guilt washed over Ivan's eyes, and Alfred saw it. "If your life depends on your government seeing the tag they gave you which ensures your life, you want to make sure that they see it. All sleeves in Russia are short."
It was then when Alfred saw. Ivan's sleeves were made to look like they were folded up, stopping at the elbow. It would be suspicious if everyone was wearing sleeves too short, during winter. So the fashion industry made folded sleeves the next fashion… right next to violet bracelets.
Alfred rubbed his hands together keeping them warm. He felt the strange-fitting bracelet on his wrist and winced. He could only imagine the incredible pain Ivan must be going through. His people dying every day by his own unwilling hand… he was hurting so much inside.
Alfred looked up and to his right to see Ivan's stern face and controlled exterior. He looked past those long, silver bangs to see Ivan's swirling eyes. Alfred was entranced by them. Ever since Ivan had his confessing revelation, and the barriers that had kept him from his emotion had broken down, his eyes came to life. Those cold distant eyes everyone saw were fake. The truth wrapped underneath that fooling façade was this selfless, compassionate, loving man. Who's eyes dripped with lonely despair.
He wanted to fix it. Alfred wanted to change though sad eyes. They were too beautiful to be sad. Those swirling melancholy colors glowing, and spinning inside those violet orbs needed to be set free. It was if his emotions were dancing inside his eyes. Dancing a tragic, yet somehow beautiful ballet, one fated to have no happy ending. Alfred didn't realize he was crying until a slow, cold tear rolled down from his sky blue eyes, past his chin, and then dripping onto his chilled hands.
Alfred reached up and touched his now wet face. Yes, he definitely was crying. He chuckled to himself. He was crying only after a few days of taking on this burden Ivan had been carrying for years… if not for his entire life. Alfred shook his head awake, sucked up his tears, and puffed out his chest. He was Alfred. F. Jones! He was here to save Ivan and his people! And damn it he was going to do it!
Before Alfred knew it Ivan took a sharp turn around the corner and they stood in front of the grand restaurant, halting Al's train of thought. Ivan looked to him with a controlled face and keen eyes asking, "Are you ready?" Alfred nodded once and they walked in.
…
The warm air inside the Seryy Volk was a dramatic contrast to the freezing winter outside. Alfred let out a short breath of air and removed his long black coat to reveal the cloths Ivan had lent to him. A soft sky blue colored shirt shaped Alfred's torso gentlemanly. Around his neck was a crimson red satin bowtie that Alfred had insisted upon wearing because quote, "Bowties are cool." For trousers, he wore a bold pair of stunning white pants. Though it was a daring fashion choice Alfred fancied it, and he could be very stubborn when he wants to be.
Ivan too removed him black sleeveless trench coat and slung it over his left arm. The walls surrounding them were colored a deep, royal red. Golden etchings lined the walls and the light was a dim orange that well suited decorated windows with their red and golden curtain tapestries.
They were seated at a small table at the back of the restaurant. It was a lucky seating arrangement because Ivan was able to keep an eye on the entire room and Alfred sat opposite the kitchen, able to peer in when necessary. Ivan sat down in the plush, white chair and adjusted his scarf. His shoulders were broad. His head was held high and proud. His chest, toned and muscular, was puffed out. He really did look like a proud lion.
Except his eyes.
His eyes were so sad. The lingering emotions of guilt, pain, and agony ebbed and waved in those kind, thoughtful eyes. The darkness in his once bright and clear violet eyes, swirled and clouded them with dark guilt-ridden emotions. Alfred knew that having to come here and kill more of his people, though doing it to save them, hurt Ivan terribly. He put up a wall to distance himself from his pain of guilt so he could be able to do the things he needed to do. But that meant blocking away all emotions, not just the pain, guilt, and fear but, happiness, joy, love as well. That also distanced him from the rest of the world outside. He hid from both himself and the world. The wall was gone now, and Alfred knew that. With no mask to put on Alfred could see through Ivan's disguise.
After Ivan had confessed to him, Alfred had realized something. Though Ivan had always put other people first, he was all alone. In every attempt to save the people he loved, he somehow pushed them away. It was such a cruel fate, such an unfair and sad fate he'd been given.
But, the clear, hopeful, happy, eyes Alfred saw at the camp were so beautiful.
The innocent hope that shone from those beacons of the soul was so incredibly, stunningly, beautiful.
Alfred looked into those bright violet eyes, swirling dark emotions clouding the hope and happiness that he saw that one time. But once was enough; he wanted to see them again, those happy uplifting eyes.
"May I take your order?" The waitress dressed in a frilly dress asked.
"Borshct." Ivan said without hesitation.
"Come on Russian accent don't fail me now!" Alfred prayed.
"Pirozhki." He said trying not to sweat out of fear.
The waitress nodded and walked down the faintly lit hall. Alfred let out a short sigh of relief. At least his accent wasn't noticeable. He was sure that was going to be the end of him!
Alfred grinned, "Well," He said in code. "At least my accent isn't noticeable."
Ivan looked at Alfred and sighed, "Yes." He said quietly. His face was frowned deep in thought as he drummed his fingers against the table. The darkness was still there.
It was obvious to Alfred that he was distracted. He didn't know just what with. He looked into Ivan's eyes again and saw the same dark swirling emotions.
"I know we're on a mission," Alfred thought, "But I have to cheer Ivan up… He must be thinking about the rebel group. Maybe I can distract him for a little bit. We are supposed to be blending in right?"
"So!" Alfred said in his cheeriest voice while wearing his brightest grin, "It's a shame they don't have any burgers, huh?"
Ivan's head was in his hand, deep in thought. "I thought you were a vegetarian." he said off-handedly.
Alfred was surprised at that. No one knew he was a vegetarian. It would ruin his street cred… "How did you know?" He asked.
"It's pretty obvious. You never order meat. The only burgers I've seen you eat are ones you've brought yourself. And even though you go to barbeques you never eat any of the meat there."
"Damn!" Alfred said surprise eminent in this voice, "You're observant."
"Also," Ivan said with more interest, "Why do you think that makes you any less admirable?"
"Okay how did you deduce that one, Sherlock?" Alfred snapped, waving his fork around to emphasize his annoyance.
Alfred's words pulled at Ivan's frown to form a small smile, "Why would you hide that fact… Watson?"
Al laughed, his defensive demeanor diminishing at Ivan's banter. "Well, you know I'm kinda known for being a meat eater. So…" He shrugged.
"Well," Ivan said admittedly, "I don't think any less of you. In fact I find it quite admirable. It takes a lot to sacrifice your own pleasure for the wellbeing of another…" He became quiet and sighed. His eyes became clouded and his thoughts were consumed.
Alfred frowned his brows. He knew that Ivan was thinking about his people again. He had done so much for them, taken so much burden onto himself, hurt himself so deeply to save them. Alfred just wanted to make him smile, even if it was just for a little bit. It was too much for one man. Having to sacrifice yourself and your people to save them was beyond Alfred's comprehension. The pain he had to bear alone for his entire life must have hurt beyond imagination.
The waitress came over with their food and placed it on the table.
"You know," Alfred said as he brought fork filled with food to his face, "I always try to make a picture with how the food is placed."
"You mean like clouds?" Ivan asked, surprised at the child-like imagination.
"Yeah!" Alfred stroked his chin in thought. "I think it looks like… a bird."
"Really?" Ivan asked.
"Yeah, here look!" Alfred turned his plate to face Ivan, "See? Here's the head with the eye. Here's the wing and that's the feet." He said pointing to various sections of food.
"Hmm," Ivan said, frowning his brows in curiosity, "Mine looks like… a bear tap dancing on an airplane."
"What?! No way! Let me see!" Alfred exclaimed in disbelief. He examined the plate of nourishment. "That looks nothing like tap dancing! That's obviously swing dance!"
"Obviously?" Ivan asked, raising a brow in question.
"Obviously." Alfred said, nodding his head confirmation.
The hours went on like this with silly conversations, Alfred saying things that got Ivan to break from his mask giggle, and after some time Alfred began to really feel happy. He was getting Ivan to laugh and smile. They each had endless stories which ended in smiles. After some time the lingering emotions in Ivan's eyes had left and they had become clear and bright again. Ordering one course after another to prolong the inevitable was a futile attempt on Alfred's part. Neither of them wanted this to come to an end but, it had to.
There was a job to be done. Though no one wanted it, this day had to end in death.
They had both finished their food. "That was delicious." Ivan said hesitantly.
Though his voice was steady, Ivan's hands were shaking. "I believe it's time I tell my complements to the chef."
That was the code. He was going into the back to find the rebels and then… Ivan's happy, bright eyes were gone, replaced by dread filled fear and pain.
He looked so alone.
Ivan stood, his whole body shaking. He was about to leave but Alfred stopped him. "Ivan? I want to tell you something." He said, his voice quiet. "You know, I had to fight alone too… once."
Ivan looked on in surprise. He hadn't expected him to say that.
"When I was young I there was… a 'part of me' that I hated." Alfred looked down, his own eyes swirling with dark emotions and memories. "I was all alone, to fight against myself."
It was raining that day, when everything changed. Mud and blood clogged my eyes. The rain impaired my vision. But I still saw him. In the muddy puddle below me, my reflection, that smirking cursing face glared at me.
It was me... And I hated it.
I tried to move my feet but they refused to budge. The pain it caused to surge through my body was immense. It felt like lightning replaced every nerve in my body. Every time I tried to move my breath would hitch from the burning in my heart and lungs. My eyes widened from the shock and I would grind my teeth to distract me from the torment. Somehow, I was able to make myself stand. And even though every instinct in my body was telling me not to move, I had to. I heard gun shots behind me. I couldn't remember why.
I shook violently as I stumbled in the rain trying to escape from whatever I was running from. I heard screams and cries of pain. They weren't mine but I felt them. I felt the whips striking my back as overwhelming fear and dread washed over me. My children were being ripped away from me. My home was taken. My freedom was taken. My name was taken. My family was taken. I couldn't remember who I was.
My head was collapsing in on itself. The throbbing ache took over my senses. The trees and rain all around me were spinning. My guts felt like they were tied into writhing knot of torture. I clenched my stomach trying to ease the burning pain. It did no good. The raw agony it made was too much. I screamed as I tripped and fell onto my knees. I vomited on the blooded muddy ground beneath me as rain crashed down onto my scarred back.
It was so loud. I couldn't hear myself cough up the copious amount of blood, or the gasping of my breath, trying to breathe. My lungs were filled with sand. Tears were replaced with ash. The rain crashing down onto the Earth isolated me. I couldn't hear. But I could hear them.
The wails of agony and woe, sorrow and fear, hate and regret, I heard them cry.
I looked up. Above me was the moon, full, pale, and beaming. Its light shone down on me, cradling me. Everything went quiet. I felt the rain drip down my face. It was softer than before. It washed away the tears. My body felt numb; I didn't feel the pain, but I couldn't feel anything. For a moment, as I looked up at the moon's pale white face while the world was crashing down around me, I felt hollow. I thought my soul had left me. I thought I was going to die.
I cried… I still remember what was whispered on that night.
"I don't want to die." It was then when I heard the howling of a wolf. It was the only thing I could hear, the cry of a lone, understanding wolf. Somehow it knew my pain. I could hear it in its cry. And then everything went black.
My body fell backwards onto the sopping bloody ground. I don't know how long I laid there. I just remember fading in and out of consciousness. The president looked at me. He looked so worried. I must have been lying in a bed, but I couldn't feel the sheets beneath me or the blankets enwrapping me. I was so confused, so disoriented. I didn't know what was going on. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't remember who I was.
"Alfred?" The president said to me. He was sitting on a chair next to the bed I laid on. "You're awake!"
President Lincoln. I wanted to talk to him but my body wouldn't let me. So all I could do was lay there and listen to him. "You've been asleep for so long! The South has seceded. War has broken out." My head was fuzzy. I'm sorry to say that I was slipping out of consciousness. But before I was plunged back into that never ending darkness I heard him say, "You have to fight!"
And so I did. The war lasted four years. For four years I had to fight to even have control of my body.
I remember the first time it happened, when my body was controlled by someone else. I was so confused. I had been fading in and out of consciousness unable to move, but it had gotten even worse. It wasn't me who was moving. It was him. The Confederate States of America.
I remember seeing him get up in the middle of the night. I saw him move my body through my own eyes. The ceiling was blurred when he opened my eyes. He turned my head to the right and put on my pair of glasses. He sat up in bed and smirked.
How terrifying would it be to see your own body move against your will? How horrifying to see your hands in front of your own face without you moving them? How terrifying to speak words you didn't intend? I was the monster I had always feared…
Alfred's entire body was shaking. There were tears in his eyes. He was scared. He was hurt. He took a deep, quivering breath and continued.
I had to fight. I had to fight myself. I had to fight just to control my body. I had to fight for my people. And I had to do it all alone.
It was so hard. It was so scary. I was all alone, trapped in my own mind, fighting my way out. I felt the pain of every person who died. I was fighting against myself, knowing that if I lost then I would become something horrible. All alone. It was the most difficult and… painful thing I've ever had to do.
Alfred looked down, his voice quiet and stale. "I've never told that to anyone." The memories Alfred had kept locked away had come out and with it the same fear, pain, and regret he felt all those years ago. "It was terrifying. It was painful. It was so lonely. It was the most horrible thing I ever had to go through… But I was able to get out."
"I had my people fighting for me, I had a leader who cared for me. But, you…" Alfred's voice was now nothing but sympathetic, and guilt filled whispers, "You had nothing. You had no one to fight for you. And yet… you survived. You kept fighting, even though you were long past your limit. You hurt yourself for so long just to bring others happiness, neglecting your own."
Alfred was crying. His words were choked and his face was wet. But he kept himself stable, for Ivan. "You're so much stronger than me. You're so much braver than me. I could have never done what you did, especially alone. But," Alfred said pushing his chair back and standing up proudly. He looked to Ivan. And though his smiling face was lined with tears, bright, everlasting hope shone from his sky blue eyes. "You're not alone anymore! I'm here to help you!"
Alfred wiped his tears away and smiled contently, "Now," he said with a pleased grin, "I believe I have to give my complements to the chef." And with that Alfred stood tall, walked to the kitchen door, and smiled at Ivan one last time before he went in.
"Alfred…" He couldn't believe what Alfred had just said, what he had done, and what he was doing for him. A quiet thankful tear strolled down Ivan's right cheek as he whispered, "Thank you."
To be continued…
A lot of flash backs in this one... that and eyes. For some reason I saw Ivan having these highly emotional moving eyes. Bowties go with every outfit. …Get it Al's wearing red, white, blue and Ivan's wearing white, black, and violet? Hehehe, I'm so not smart. Also advance in romantic relationship for the win!
Well, any way that's chapter 8! We're half way done with the story guys. And guess what. I planned out the rest of the story! Yay for knowing what you're doing! Also, I'm crazy happy with the way this chapter turned out! Me being satisfied with a chapter? Heaven forbid.
Also I love how the tree poem thing turned out too! The whole point of that analogy is to say the most beautiful light comes from the darkest of black. A.K.A Amazing good can come from terrible bad.
Pirozhki = Russian dish. Once again yay to the internet for making my life easy.
Borshct = More food from Russia.
Seryy Volk = Grey Wolf
Also sorry for the terrible Russian. Blame Google translate, not me.
