AN: Here you go. Sorry it too so long as it did; things haven't been the best right now for me. Also, I may or may not have spent a whole bunch of writing time trying to catch up on Homestuck, which helped...
Disclaimer: Dudes, if I owned any of this, I think Hetalia'd be majorly different.
It had taken a bit, but Dae Jung had come to hate the audible sounds of doors opening and closing. Opening the door would lead to a bout of torture on his behalf and closing the door would lead to the loud shrieks of terror from Yong Soo, who was being tortured.
Dae Jung loathed it. He yearned for Seoul; the urban crawl of the capital city—although oppressive when not comprehended, or more often than not, desired—was something the ex-spy had come to understand in an intimate manner that carried the same as being in a romantic relationship with a person. That sort of intimate trust came from only being so involved in something that it becomes your life.
The sheer intensity of that even slightly cohesive reprise of a thought brought tears to Dae Jung's eyes; he knew that he had betrayed that vital sense of trust that made—and defined—a connection between humans, between friends, and it was the pivotal key between lovers.
But that is what a spy does, Dae Jung rationalized in a way to protect himself from his own thoughts, for when you aren't even a real person—
At the memory of Yong Soo's angered face though, Dae Jung cut himself off of that thought before it dared to continue onward. He didn't understand in the slightest bit; he hadn't shot Yong Soo and Dae Jung had acted in their best interest, so why had Yong Soo been so livid? Of course, if Dae Jung judged by the screams he had been hearing, it was bluntly a guarantee that Yong Soo was being tortured on Dae Jung's unwilling behalf.
And at this moment, those screams had been continuing, long past the formation of any sort of coherent set of words. They had started with that, but the time for coherent pleading had long past—the screams had stopped then. Dae Jung strained his ears to hear, before he heard the door slam shut and there was some sort of intense whispering from the guards outside of his cell. Dae Jung didn't know why—didn't care why—but the fact that Yong Soo was no longer screaming was good, provided it wasn't from Yong Soo having passed out, or anything else such as that.
The door to Dae Jung's cell opened with a soft creaking sound that was a bit too high-pitched; it burned at Dae Jung's ears to listen to, and provided a headache for anyone listening. Fresh air—sweet tasting freshness that reeked of the outside air—leaked into the room. It burned at Dae Jung's nose and eyes, and his eyes watered, but he refused to let that affect him anymore.
"Annyong hashim nikka, dongmu*," The voice of Dae Jung's interrogator greeted after a moment of silence. It was the same person, Dae Jung had come to know now, but then again, it always was.
"Ne, annyong hashim nikka, dongmu*," Dae Jung replied as he looked at the person, finally—after what seemed to be a month—being able to see, and hear them.
It was a man. He was old, and stooped over; Dae Jung could tell the man's age by the completely silver hair—which was still long and pulled back into a ponytail, which was an oddity; unless you were an older person, you couldn't have such long hair to start with. The uniform that the old man wore was very decorated; most of the badges of honor were from early on in the Fatherland Liberation War*, if Dae Jung was correct. It was possible they were from earlier, but he doubted it; there were no wars in which brought Korea as a whole glory, or would have allowed a Korean to have risen to be that influential in recent history.
"I can barely see," The old interrogator said softly and shook his head, as if he was a teacher lecturing a younger student. He walked over to Dae Jung, cane clicking loudly—echoing in Dae Jung's head, almost, "Yet I can see you clearly. You're a young man who is a part of the movement that will one day bring our country back together.
"And yet, I don't see you. All I know is that you compromised yourself to the south. I want you to explain this to me, comrade. How? Why?
"Sir?" Dae Jung asked, not comprehending the situation at all, nor the question. How was this of any sort—any semblance—of relevance? "I fear that I don't understand…" Best to act meek; your snarky behavior has gotten Yong Soo hurt, Dae Jung told himself snarkily, making his chest feel a bit too tight now.
"You let yourself believe the lie. Why would you allow yourself to do that?" The interrogator asked once more. The old man's brow furrowed in thought as if he was trying to understand Dae Jung, and his actions.
"I never intended for it to be this way," Dae Jung sighed awkwardly and looked down. He eyed his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world; the man seemed to look right through him, "Never; I am no willing traitor to the Party."
"…You are Kim Dae Jung, son of Kim Dae Soo and Kim Ma-ri?" The man asked then, voice sounding oddly thick, as if he was going to break down and cry.
"Yes sir," Dae Jung replied calmly, wondering what his long-dead parents had to do with any of this at all, or why on earth the old man cared, "And the grandson of Kim Yong Min and Li Sun Hae*."
That statement made the man seem to still then. "…Dae Jung?" He asked softly. That voice…When paired with his name, Dae Jung blinked. Wait… Was this his grandfather?
"Yes sir?" Dae Jung asked and frowned. If this was his grandfather, it just made everything a bit more awkward all around, especially—
"…You'd make your grandfather proud, boy," The man said and sighed a bit. That just solidified it for Dae Jung—this was his grandfather, and the gods of irony—whom Dae Jung had cursed quite copiously before—had manifested in the form of the guards of this specific gulag.
The comment made Dae Jung blink as he watched his grandfather leave. Dae Jung didn't understand why on earth he would be; surely the soldiers in charge wouldn't have done that, in order to mock some sort of resemblance of sanity, right? Right?
After a long, long moment—so long that it was a span of time, not just a brief moment within a certain span of such—Dae Jung's grandfather came back with a highly unbalanced Yong Soo, who was staggering around as if he was drunk. Dae Jung studied his lover, struggling to figure out why something was wrong, before Dae Jung's eyes widened in a mix of shock and horror.
Yong Soo was missing a leg. And the wound was clearly fresh; there was still wet blood splattered all over the pajama pants Yong Soo was still in, and it was a bright shade of red that could seem to be ketchup, if it wasn't so liquid-like. It dripped onto the floor as Yong Soo lolled his head around, as if clinging to consciousness in a manner that said very clearly: 'If I close my eyes, I will die.'
The old man set Yong Soo down on the floor, making sure that Yong Soo was supported—and still awake—for a moment, before he freed Dae Jung from the chair Dae Jung was attached to. "You're both being relocated," He grumbled and patted Dae Jung's head in a familial manner, as if telling Dae Jung to be good.
Dae Jung blinked in annoyance—he was older now—but didn't question it as he and Yong Soo were jostled about for a moment, and carried outside to a car. The flurry of events that happened next was missing in his head; Dae Jung had been too busy making sure that Yong Soo didn't bleed out. As it was though—at some point, Yong Soo had to have his wound cauterized; he wasn't bleeding out anymore.
"Yong Soo, are you alright?" Dae Jung asked softly, shaking as he held the other close again. They were loaded into a large military-issued truck as Yong Soo grumbled and tried to push Dae Jung away, before failing miserably
"No. I'm not alright. I'm missing my leg, I lost my lover, and I'm fairly certain that I'm going to die before I ever go back to Seoul—if I ever do. So no, Kim-ssi*, I'm not alright."
Dae Jung flinched at the acidic words and the tone that sounded far too much like blame. He was sorry, so bitterly sorry… Why didn't Yong Soo seem to understand that? It made so very little sense to Dae Jung at all…
"Yong Soo—."
"And don't call me that*!" Yong Soo's eyes watered as he glared at Dae Jung in a way that would make someone as evil as the Devil flinch, "You're not Dae Jung! Not my Dae Jung, at any rate; you, Kim-ssi are a citizen of the Democratic People's Republic of Tyranny*—."
"Where did you hear that name?" Dae Jung cut Yong Soo off. That term… It was so familiar… Why? Why? He had heard it; Dae Jung knew he had—oh. Oh… His mother…
"My cousin… Cousin-in-law, on my mother's side," Yong Soo blinked, rant being cut off for a moment, "Mom said that that term was what she called your country. She vanished."
Dae Jung bit his lip and sighed. Best to come clean, even if only in a small way that would—most likely—be thrown into his face. "…In one of my mother's journal entries… That's what she called it."
"So, like mother like son? You both chose to spy on the country you hate," Yong Soo hissed out unhappily as he scooted away from Dae Jung. His defense mechanisms from the lack of trust were kicking in; Yong Soo's brain was telling him to hurt—hurt in a way that would leave the other staggering and crying.
And Dae Jung swore that he wouldn't hurt Yong Soo. He swore it to himself; Yong Soo was a person he loved, a person he let in, and Dae Jung wasn't going to let this end up like Mother… Fists clenched tighter, and Dae Jung's temper flamed, but he would not hit Yong Soo. He was better than that… So it completely startled them both as Dae Jung smashed his fist into Yong Soo's jaw.
"You fucker! You have no idea what you're talking about! You have no idea!" Dae Jung screeched at Yong Soo, shaking like a Chihuahua in heat.
Yong Soo looked up, as if seeing Dae Jung for the first time. The calm, quiet, and introverted freshman was gone; this was a different man, full of passion, and rage, and hate. Sweet, sweet hate, which seemed to fill up Dae Jung entirely.
And it wasn't just the physical appearance, Yong Soo thought; no. Dae Jung—the one he knew—always had seemed pressed in on himself, as if he had always been anxious, or been betrayed. But now, Dae Jung—the one he didn't know—was bold—rash almost and easily ruled by his rage and hate, and his body language was loud, aggressive.
Dae Jung kept screaming at Yong Soo for a long, long time, before a loud, "…SO DON'T JUDGE ME!" was screamed out. Tears splashed down his face as Dae Jung stopped screeching to curl up on himself. They were tears of rage; Dae Jung was no longer a crying child who cried every time he got hurt; Dae Jung's tears were more from frustration than anything else.
Neither talked for the rest of the day.
Dae Jung and Yong Soo were awoken long before the sun was up in the sky proper. It seemed as if they had passed out somewhere along the way; about a few kilometers north was the outline of Pyongyang, which had been less than a dot on the horizon when Dae Jung had last checked.. The one spire—the unfinished hotel, Dae Jung knew—gave the city away more than anything else that was visible did.
The two were pulled out of the vehicle and they both eyed the city unhappily. Dae Jung pulled Yong Soo close so that the crippled teen could walk. Or at least, that's what Dae Jung was telling himself; he couldn't—wouldn't—think that there was anything between them. Mutual survival. Mutual survival, that was all.
Dae Jung helped Yong Soo stagger into a large camp-esque place, before they went into a building that—from the outside—resembled barracks. They both were simply tired; it filled up their beings and wormed its way into their bones, which made their bodies feel as if they were weighed down with lead. They both doubted it was from a lack of sleep; it wasn't that sort of tired. This was the sort that just made them not want to move for any specific amount of time now.
They were led into what appeared to be Seoul. No, not appeared, Dae Jung realized then, It was Seoul…Until he looked up for a brief moment. Fluorescent lighting filled the scene of the city. Dae Jung's and Yong Soo's eyes widened, although for far different reasons.
"We're props…" Dae Jung realizes in a sense of incoming dread, "Oh no…"
"This is Seoul?" Yong Soo exclaimed in bafflement. It was clearly a rhetorical question, since he turned to Dae Jung and demanded, "What do you mean, we're props?"
They were pulled off as Dae Jung explained softly, "This was a movie set that the Dear Leader had made. Nowadays, it's used as a place for field spies to get some training in a capitalist environment. A carefully controlled environment, but it allows a setting. The spies jokingly called the people who were kidnapped to live here props; they have to live and breathe the rest of their lives here. More often than not, they end up giving up any hope of freedom, and they serve their purpose. Thus, they're props."
"Then who were the actors?" Yong Soo asked nervously as they were brought to an apartment.
Dae Jung gave a look that said 'you're shitting me,' but nodded as he answered nonetheless, "The spies in training."
"…Hey, I found this," Yong Soo said as Dae Jung helped him sit down.
Curiously, Dae Jung took a folded envelope from Yong Soo and opened it up. It was a set of instructions that, when read, detailed who Dae Jung and Yong Soo were, what they were doing, and their 'lives.'
"So, looks like we both have jobs," Dae Jung mumbled as he handed the papers to Yong Soo, "And we get to keep our names…"
"How can you act so calm about this?" Yong Soo demanded angrily, shaking a bit as Dae Jung pulled over a wheelchair that had been placed nearby, "Don't you realize that we're probably going to die here?"
Dae Jung frowned and helped Yong Soo into the wheelchair. "We might. Oods are, the man who got us out will be put on trial as a traitor, and so will I. And you'll either be killed or you'll live the rest of your life here. The only reason I'm so calm is because I'm used to life and death standing on a single word, Yong Soo.
Dae Jung inhaled sharply as he stepped away from Yong Soo then. "Panicking doesn't solve our problems, or fix them, so I'm not panicking! I'm sorry if you are, but if we don't keep up some semblance of calm, we'll be consumed!"
Yong Soo looked at Dae Jung in a mix of shock and abject fear. "Did they teach you this in spy school, or something?" Fear was making him angry, monstrously so. His nerves had been shot, and Yong Soo was acting horribly impulsive because of it. "If you're facing death, how are you not scared? Kim-ssi, I'm starting to think that I'm more scared than you, or that you don't feel anything at all!"
Dae Jung sighed as he replied, "Would you rather me panic? One of us needs to be calm, but yes—I'm frightened to my wits' end! But I've been having too much emotion to actually feel the small spur of this tinge of fear!" His widened eyes seemed to give Dae Jung that semblance of fear; until the end he was still lying. "But is it remains, I do feel emotion—I've had panic attacks and an emotional breakdown, remember?"
Yong Soo's eyes widened as he listened to Dae Jung's long sense of screeching. It was as if Dae Jung was something—or someone else—who Yong Soo didn't even know.
Yong Soo bit his lip as he took Dae Jung's hands before they threaded into the spy's hair. He didn't like this Dae Jung, not at all, but it was still Dae Jung, and for that, Yong Soo felt obligated to help the other male out.
"When we asked for a change, I suppose this isn't what we meant," Yong Soo whispered sadly and closed his eyes.
_ Annyong hashim nikka, dongmu: Hello (formal), comrade.
Ne, annyong hashim nikka, dongmu: Yes, hello (formal), comrade.
Fatherland Liberation War: The Korean War, as it's called in North Korea. In South Korea, and everywhere else in the world, it's just…the Korean War.
Li Sun Hae: In traditional Korean culture, even if you get married, you keep your family name, because ties to the family are important. For example, if a woman gets married, she doesn't take her husband's last name. That's why Dae Jung's grandmother is Li. And almost 40% of Koreans have the last name of Kim/Li/or Park, due to how the three kingdoms were based. So that's the logic behind everyone being Kim.
Kim-ssi: Mr. Kim.
Don't call me that [Yong Soo]!: Yong Soo's pretty much saying to not use his given name and generational name, since he doesn't trust Dae Jung any longer, and thinks it's rude now that a person he doesn't know is using his name so informally.
Democratic People's Republic of Tyranny: This is an echo back to Ma-ri/Soo Yang's words.
AN: So yeah, review and all that...I'll be back soon enough...
