At The End Of All Things [17/?]
Mar. 6th, 2010 02:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: At The End Of All Things
Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance/Humour(in places)
Pairing/s: (in this chapter) GreecexJapan
Characters: (in this chapter) Japan, Czech Republic, Greece, Spain, Sealand, Prussia. (That's right. Keep holding to that cliff... XP)
Rating/Warnings: Overall NC-17. This chapter PG.
Summary: The year is 2438. A little over one hundred years ago, Russia finally cracked and nuclear warheads were sent flying to every corner of the world. No one had time to react. Some countries were wounded, some lost forever. The smaller nations suffered the most. Russia disappeared, never to be heard of again. Finally, the world is beginning to piece itself back together, and there is movement in the irradiated lands of Old Russia. Something is stirring, and only the rag-tag group of remaining nations can discover what it is. Ivan Braginski, or something far worse...
A/N: Many thanks to![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
kasumicc and colourbine for their help with Spanish, and to my friend Darren for his help with Japanese <3
Even those who had once been enemies, though some things can never truly be forgotten, managed to put grudges aside to work towards something better and I know, if we survive to see the human race rebuilt, that it will be a better world for what we have experienced together. It wasn’t how we wanted it, but it could have been worse, and that was what we continued to tell ourselves.
It could have been so much worse.’
***
“Sakura, sakura, no-yama mo sato mo, mi-watasu kigari. Kasumi ka, kumo ka? Asahi ni niou. Sakura, sakura, hana-zakari.” A slim, lily-white finger brushed gently against the pale pink petals of a nearby orchid, the tune continuing, dark eyes lowered as the flowers were tended to.
“Sakura, sakura, yayoi no sora wa, mi-watasu kigari. Kasumi ka, kumo ka? Nioi zo izuru. Iza ya, iza ya, mi ni yukan...”
Kiku was still weak, but the daily ritual of caring for Matthew’s indoor garden kept him busy, and slowly his strength was returning. Much had changed since the group had left. The Nordics had returned home but it was easy to see that something was terribly wrong with Tino – the deep shadows under his eyes and pale, bloodless colour of his lips and skin had told that much. Mirari had not wanted him to go, their close ties of the past evident even now, but he had smiled and hugged her warmly, and told her not to worry, that he would be fine, and he would write to her as soon as he could. Peter, however, had been another problem entirely, not so easily placated by promises and kind words, and he had been making more of a nuisance of himself than usual lately.
The most astonishing change had been in Zdislav. The Czech had startled all of them when he appeared, quiet but undoubtedly different, holding lightly to Portugal’s arm. It had been a struggle not to stare as he fed himself, and there were widened glances exchanged as he paused in the middle of eating, and softly muttered ‘Stýská se mi po Anastázia’. Mirari had put an arm around him then, and stroked her fingers lightly through his hair. He didn’t cry, or say anything more, but he had said something, his first words in over a hundred years.
The small Japanese man had wasted no time in reaffirming bonds with his old friend, and Zdislav had taken to following him around when he wasn’t being looked after by Mirari. He sat watching him, crouched on a chair in the corner of the room, idly chewing his thumbnail. Kiku thought that he looked a lot like one of the characters from an animated series that his country had produced long ago. He smiled, and left the plant that he was tending to approach the other man, crouching slightly with his hands on his knees.
“Zdislav-kun?” he said, keeping his tone light and friendly. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Kiku-chan,” Zdislav murmured, an almost sing-song quality to his voice as he lifted his gaze and a tiny smile twitched at his lips. “I miss my sister, Kiku-chan.”
“I know,” Kiku replied with a soft sigh. “I miss her too. Do you want to help me with the rhododendrons?”
“Ano.” Zdislav slipped from the stool and followed him as he crossed the room, mimicking his posture as he leaned over the flowers. That was how Heracles found them when he walked in, mirror images of each other, the Czech half a beat behind Kiku as he carefully picked the dead flowers from the stems.
“Ohayo.” He spoke quietly, just loud enough to catch the attention of the others.
“Yassou,” Kiku replied with a bright smile, giving Zdislav a small nudge to prompt a softly mumbled ‘dobrý den’. The Greek walked across and planted a light, chaste kiss on Kiku’s cheek which despite its restraint still brought a faint blush to the smaller man’s face.
“Ludwig sent me,” the Greek went on. “He wants you to take a look at the modifications he’s been making. He’d ask Feliciano, but...”
“Un, I understand. Kite, Zdislav?”
“Mm.” The young man nodded and trailed after the others as they left the room, dodging neatly out of the way as a blonde-and-blue blur shot past, pursued by a livid Spaniard.
“Vuelve aquí, pequeño bastardo entrometido!”
“Leave me alone!”
Antonio’s long legs soon caught up with the smaller nation, and he jerked him back by the collar of his shirt, lifting him from the ground. Peter kicked and squirmed, reaching around behind his head in an attempt to prise the man’s fingers from his clothes, shouting and swearing with a vehemence that sounded strange in his young voice. The Spaniard gave him a shake, scowling darkly, then he blinked and his expression turned almost puzzled as the boy began to cry.
“Uh...” In a sudden switch of temperament, Antonio put Peter down, but the young boy didn’t run. He dropped to his knees and sobbed dejectedly, tears dripping from his flushed cheeks, and for a moment the Spaniard was at a loss, then he sighed and crouched beside him, resting one hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, Pedro, lo siento. You miss your brother, sí?”
“Sí- I mean, yeah,” Peter mumbled, wiping at his cheeks and sniffling. “I didn’t want Papa Berwald to leave, either... and Tino is so sick... What if he dies? It isn’t fair!”
“Ven aquí, pequeño. Come here.” Antonio sat, leaning against the wall of the corridor, and after a long moment of confused uncertainty, Peter scooted over to him and leaned against the older man as an arm was slipped around his shoulders. “Talk to boss.”
“Boss?” Peter blinked up at him with wide eyes.
“Sí,” the man replied. He still, sometimes, out of sheer force of habit, referred to himself that way. Peter giggled, then his expression turned serious as Antonio looked down at him. “Listen to boss, pequeño. Life is not fair, and certainly, if Tino does fall, it will be una gran pérdida, but it will be how it was meant to be.” The Spaniard looked suddenly tired, and leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes and letting out a slow breath. “Ah, Pedro... I am weary of all of this. Muy cansado.” He sighed, and Peter rested his cheek on the older man’s shoulder, a small frown on his face.
“Papa Berwald used to say something to me,” Peter said after a little while, shifting position so he could look at the suddenly, strangely tame Spaniard, his accent rough and halting as he mimicked Berwald’s way of speaking. “He used to say, ‘ingenting under solen är beständigt’. Nothing beneath the sun is lasting.”
“Wise words...”
“Mm... I always thought they were sad.”
Another pause, then Antonio moved and Peter flinched, though the only movement the Spaniard made was to take the boy by the shoulders and set him on his feet, shifting into a crouch in front of him.
“You remind me a little of Lovino, Pedro. He was always getting into trouble. Such a terrible temper, that boy...” A wistful smile flickered over the man’s face, and Peter blinked, then his arms wrapped around the other male and he hugged him tightly, feeling the surprised start before the gesture was returned. He patted the boy on the back and then stood, ruffling his hair.
“Ahora, vete, before I change my mind and decide to punish you after all.”
“Okay, boss!” Peter chirped, speeding away as quickly as his legs could carry him, almost barrelling straight into Gilbert on his way. The Prussian found Antonio still seated on the floor, gazing blankly at the opposite side of the hallway, and it took several hand-waves in front of his face to catch his attention before he blinked, shook himself out of his daze and looked up.
“Caray, Gilbert, you look terrible,” he said, standing somewhat awkwardly and falling into step beside the blonde as he continued walking.
Prussia and Spain had been friends since the old days, even though they had sometimes fought, and fought badly. Antonio had been so much more easy-going back then, and even after the War of Spanish Succession, he had quickly forgiven Gilbert for siding with the enemy. After all, what was a Spaniard to do when faced with losing one of the few friends he had who enjoyed a fine drink as much as he did? Although their countries may have fought, their personal friendship remained strong, sometimes privately, and when they were able, they would still take a drink together, although the quality was far removed from the old days.
“Mm, I know. I think it’s because Mattie is so far away.” Gilbert sighed, and pushed a hand through his hair. “I hate it, you know? The not knowing... If he died, I’d know, right? I’d know right away.”
“Por supuesto,” Antonio replied, a small, concerned frown on his face. “Most certainly, you would know.”
“I shouldn’t have let him go,” the Prussian went on. “He isn’t ‘brave’ and ‘heroic’ like his foolish brother, and he wouldn’t be able to just kill a person...”
“You mustn’t worry yourself so, mi amigo. I am sure he’s doing fine...”
“How can you be so sure?” Was the next question, worry casting a shadow over Gilbert’s pale features. Antonio simply chuckled, and put a hand on his companion’s shoulder.
“Because Inglaterra, Arturo, he will not allow them to fail.”
----------------------
Translations:
Japanese
Sakura, Sakura
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
On Meadow-hills and mountains
As far as you can see.
Is it a mist, or clouds?
Fragrant in the morning sun.
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
Flowers in full bloom.
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
Across the Spring sky,
As far as you can see.
Is it a mist, or clouds?
Fragrant in the air.
Come now, come,
Let’s look, at last!
*
Ohayo - Good morning
Un - Yes
Kite? - Coming?
Czech
Stýská se mi po Anastázia - I miss Anastázia
Ano - Yes
Dobrý den - Good day
Greek
Yassou - Good morning
Spanish
Vuelve aquí, pequeño bastardo entrometido! - Get back here, you sneaky little bastard!
Lo siento - I'm sorry
Ven aquí - Come here
Pequeño - Little one
Sí - Yes
Una gran pérdida - A great loss
Muy cansado - Very tired
Ahora, vete - Now, go
Caray - Damn
Por supuesto - Of course
Mi amigo - My friend
Inglaterra - England
Arturo - [Spanish form of] Arthur
----------------------
<| Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Eighteen |>
Genre: Drama/Angst/Romance/Humour(in places)
Pairing/s: (in this chapter) GreecexJapan
Characters: (in this chapter) Japan, Czech Republic, Greece, Spain, Sealand, Prussia. (That's right. Keep holding to that cliff... XP)
Rating/Warnings: Overall NC-17. This chapter PG.
Summary: The year is 2438. A little over one hundred years ago, Russia finally cracked and nuclear warheads were sent flying to every corner of the world. No one had time to react. Some countries were wounded, some lost forever. The smaller nations suffered the most. Russia disappeared, never to be heard of again. Finally, the world is beginning to piece itself back together, and there is movement in the irradiated lands of Old Russia. Something is stirring, and only the rag-tag group of remaining nations can discover what it is. Ivan Braginski, or something far worse...
A/N: Many thanks to
kasumicc and colourbine for their help with Spanish, and to my friend Darren for his help with Japanese <3~ There is nothing good in war, except its ending. ~
****
‘Sometimes it was hard to spare a thought for anybody else. It would have been so easy to lose ourselves in our fear and devastation, but the bonds that we had forged with one another for reasons more political than anything were now stripped to simple friendship, and we flourished. Friendship is not so simple after all. Even those who had once been enemies, though some things can never truly be forgotten, managed to put grudges aside to work towards something better and I know, if we survive to see the human race rebuilt, that it will be a better world for what we have experienced together. It wasn’t how we wanted it, but it could have been worse, and that was what we continued to tell ourselves.
It could have been so much worse.’
***
“Sakura, sakura, no-yama mo sato mo, mi-watasu kigari. Kasumi ka, kumo ka? Asahi ni niou. Sakura, sakura, hana-zakari.” A slim, lily-white finger brushed gently against the pale pink petals of a nearby orchid, the tune continuing, dark eyes lowered as the flowers were tended to.
“Sakura, sakura, yayoi no sora wa, mi-watasu kigari. Kasumi ka, kumo ka? Nioi zo izuru. Iza ya, iza ya, mi ni yukan...”
Kiku was still weak, but the daily ritual of caring for Matthew’s indoor garden kept him busy, and slowly his strength was returning. Much had changed since the group had left. The Nordics had returned home but it was easy to see that something was terribly wrong with Tino – the deep shadows under his eyes and pale, bloodless colour of his lips and skin had told that much. Mirari had not wanted him to go, their close ties of the past evident even now, but he had smiled and hugged her warmly, and told her not to worry, that he would be fine, and he would write to her as soon as he could. Peter, however, had been another problem entirely, not so easily placated by promises and kind words, and he had been making more of a nuisance of himself than usual lately.
The most astonishing change had been in Zdislav. The Czech had startled all of them when he appeared, quiet but undoubtedly different, holding lightly to Portugal’s arm. It had been a struggle not to stare as he fed himself, and there were widened glances exchanged as he paused in the middle of eating, and softly muttered ‘Stýská se mi po Anastázia’. Mirari had put an arm around him then, and stroked her fingers lightly through his hair. He didn’t cry, or say anything more, but he had said something, his first words in over a hundred years.
The small Japanese man had wasted no time in reaffirming bonds with his old friend, and Zdislav had taken to following him around when he wasn’t being looked after by Mirari. He sat watching him, crouched on a chair in the corner of the room, idly chewing his thumbnail. Kiku thought that he looked a lot like one of the characters from an animated series that his country had produced long ago. He smiled, and left the plant that he was tending to approach the other man, crouching slightly with his hands on his knees.
“Zdislav-kun?” he said, keeping his tone light and friendly. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Kiku-chan,” Zdislav murmured, an almost sing-song quality to his voice as he lifted his gaze and a tiny smile twitched at his lips. “I miss my sister, Kiku-chan.”
“I know,” Kiku replied with a soft sigh. “I miss her too. Do you want to help me with the rhododendrons?”
“Ano.” Zdislav slipped from the stool and followed him as he crossed the room, mimicking his posture as he leaned over the flowers. That was how Heracles found them when he walked in, mirror images of each other, the Czech half a beat behind Kiku as he carefully picked the dead flowers from the stems.
“Ohayo.” He spoke quietly, just loud enough to catch the attention of the others.
“Yassou,” Kiku replied with a bright smile, giving Zdislav a small nudge to prompt a softly mumbled ‘dobrý den’. The Greek walked across and planted a light, chaste kiss on Kiku’s cheek which despite its restraint still brought a faint blush to the smaller man’s face.
“Ludwig sent me,” the Greek went on. “He wants you to take a look at the modifications he’s been making. He’d ask Feliciano, but...”
“Un, I understand. Kite, Zdislav?”
“Mm.” The young man nodded and trailed after the others as they left the room, dodging neatly out of the way as a blonde-and-blue blur shot past, pursued by a livid Spaniard.
“Vuelve aquí, pequeño bastardo entrometido!”
“Leave me alone!”
Antonio’s long legs soon caught up with the smaller nation, and he jerked him back by the collar of his shirt, lifting him from the ground. Peter kicked and squirmed, reaching around behind his head in an attempt to prise the man’s fingers from his clothes, shouting and swearing with a vehemence that sounded strange in his young voice. The Spaniard gave him a shake, scowling darkly, then he blinked and his expression turned almost puzzled as the boy began to cry.
“Uh...” In a sudden switch of temperament, Antonio put Peter down, but the young boy didn’t run. He dropped to his knees and sobbed dejectedly, tears dripping from his flushed cheeks, and for a moment the Spaniard was at a loss, then he sighed and crouched beside him, resting one hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, Pedro, lo siento. You miss your brother, sí?”
“Sí- I mean, yeah,” Peter mumbled, wiping at his cheeks and sniffling. “I didn’t want Papa Berwald to leave, either... and Tino is so sick... What if he dies? It isn’t fair!”
“Ven aquí, pequeño. Come here.” Antonio sat, leaning against the wall of the corridor, and after a long moment of confused uncertainty, Peter scooted over to him and leaned against the older man as an arm was slipped around his shoulders. “Talk to boss.”
“Boss?” Peter blinked up at him with wide eyes.
“Sí,” the man replied. He still, sometimes, out of sheer force of habit, referred to himself that way. Peter giggled, then his expression turned serious as Antonio looked down at him. “Listen to boss, pequeño. Life is not fair, and certainly, if Tino does fall, it will be una gran pérdida, but it will be how it was meant to be.” The Spaniard looked suddenly tired, and leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes and letting out a slow breath. “Ah, Pedro... I am weary of all of this. Muy cansado.” He sighed, and Peter rested his cheek on the older man’s shoulder, a small frown on his face.
“Papa Berwald used to say something to me,” Peter said after a little while, shifting position so he could look at the suddenly, strangely tame Spaniard, his accent rough and halting as he mimicked Berwald’s way of speaking. “He used to say, ‘ingenting under solen är beständigt’. Nothing beneath the sun is lasting.”
“Wise words...”
“Mm... I always thought they were sad.”
Another pause, then Antonio moved and Peter flinched, though the only movement the Spaniard made was to take the boy by the shoulders and set him on his feet, shifting into a crouch in front of him.
“You remind me a little of Lovino, Pedro. He was always getting into trouble. Such a terrible temper, that boy...” A wistful smile flickered over the man’s face, and Peter blinked, then his arms wrapped around the other male and he hugged him tightly, feeling the surprised start before the gesture was returned. He patted the boy on the back and then stood, ruffling his hair.
“Ahora, vete, before I change my mind and decide to punish you after all.”
“Okay, boss!” Peter chirped, speeding away as quickly as his legs could carry him, almost barrelling straight into Gilbert on his way. The Prussian found Antonio still seated on the floor, gazing blankly at the opposite side of the hallway, and it took several hand-waves in front of his face to catch his attention before he blinked, shook himself out of his daze and looked up.
“Caray, Gilbert, you look terrible,” he said, standing somewhat awkwardly and falling into step beside the blonde as he continued walking.
Prussia and Spain had been friends since the old days, even though they had sometimes fought, and fought badly. Antonio had been so much more easy-going back then, and even after the War of Spanish Succession, he had quickly forgiven Gilbert for siding with the enemy. After all, what was a Spaniard to do when faced with losing one of the few friends he had who enjoyed a fine drink as much as he did? Although their countries may have fought, their personal friendship remained strong, sometimes privately, and when they were able, they would still take a drink together, although the quality was far removed from the old days.
“Mm, I know. I think it’s because Mattie is so far away.” Gilbert sighed, and pushed a hand through his hair. “I hate it, you know? The not knowing... If he died, I’d know, right? I’d know right away.”
“Por supuesto,” Antonio replied, a small, concerned frown on his face. “Most certainly, you would know.”
“I shouldn’t have let him go,” the Prussian went on. “He isn’t ‘brave’ and ‘heroic’ like his foolish brother, and he wouldn’t be able to just kill a person...”
“You mustn’t worry yourself so, mi amigo. I am sure he’s doing fine...”
“How can you be so sure?” Was the next question, worry casting a shadow over Gilbert’s pale features. Antonio simply chuckled, and put a hand on his companion’s shoulder.
“Because Inglaterra, Arturo, he will not allow them to fail.”
----------------------
Translations:
Japanese
Sakura, Sakura
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
On Meadow-hills and mountains
As far as you can see.
Is it a mist, or clouds?
Fragrant in the morning sun.
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
Flowers in full bloom.
Cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms,
Across the Spring sky,
As far as you can see.
Is it a mist, or clouds?
Fragrant in the air.
Come now, come,
Let’s look, at last!
*
Ohayo - Good morning
Un - Yes
Kite? - Coming?
Czech
Stýská se mi po Anastázia - I miss Anastázia
Ano - Yes
Dobrý den - Good day
Greek
Yassou - Good morning
Spanish
Vuelve aquí, pequeño bastardo entrometido! - Get back here, you sneaky little bastard!
Lo siento - I'm sorry
Ven aquí - Come here
Pequeño - Little one
Sí - Yes
Una gran pérdida - A great loss
Muy cansado - Very tired
Ahora, vete - Now, go
Caray - Damn
Por supuesto - Of course
Mi amigo - My friend
Inglaterra - England
Arturo - [Spanish form of] Arthur
----------------------
<| Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Eighteen |>
