acatwhowrites: (typewriter)
A Cat Who Writes ([personal profile] acatwhowrites) wrote2010-12-25 12:54 am

[Fanfic] Timeless

Title: Timeless; one-shot
Fandom: Hetalia
Genre: drama, love
Rating: PG
Warning(s): depictions of blood and fighting
This is for the [livejournal.com profile] easteuropesanta Secret Santa exchange for [livejournal.com profile] perkeleeesti.

The prompt I chose dealt Belarus and her knives; I think I danced around that topic without touching it directly until the end. I had started to look into Belarusian history for ties with Russia before the Soviet Union, but I couldn't really understand enough to write something off history. I made it all up, instead, so this is after a fight Belarus got into while protecting her brother.

Timeless


It was snowing again, but it often snowed in the north. Flat on her back, nestled deep in snow, Belarus dozed fitfully, making an impression of a fallen snow angel. Blood from wounds coloured the snow around her prone figure like poinsettias, giving a false impression of beauty.

Through barely parted eyelids, she watched the snow that fell from the grey sky to the earth, uncaring of the white flakes kissing her lashes. The feeling had long since left her feet, hands and legs, but her back and shoulders could still feel the ice of frozen blood that caked her hair. Surely, if she ever stood again, her hair would stick as it was; she would look quite laughable with her long platinum hair sticking out around her like Medusa’s snakes.

She sighed, her breath clouding into a visible form briefly before dissipating.

Around her, all was silent. There was no sense of time in the tundra of Siberia. Everything was white and untouched; a virgin countryside marred only by footprints and spilled blood of her and her opponents. She fought against anyone who opposed, questioned, and even loved Russia. Her devotion to him spanned further than the borders of the entire Asian continent, and it was more solid than any concrete.

Sticking out of the snow, a marker for the fallen, was the slender knife that Belarus dropped when her opponent had struck her jaw. It fell from her hand, stabbing the pure snow as she stumbled. Pride didn’t allow her to cry at the pain that shot through her body, and she set her jaw stubbornly, keeping her breathing shallow but even.

A second knife, sister to the first, dropped dangerously close to the side of her face, close enough she could see her distorted reflection in its blade. Her opponent huffed a tired sigh and trudged away through the snow. He might have thought to help her, but she had never been a helpless woman.

So she laid for an unknown length of time, alone, until turning her head slightly. Her forehead touched the cold blade, and she could see her eyes. Deep blue like the night sky and dull with pain, she didn’t think a single thought.

She closed her eyes, ready to sleep, and darkness chased away all the visions and pain for what passed like a single moment when her tingling ears heard a familiar voice.

“..rus. Belarus.” Someone breathed hot air onto her face, and she felt something warm and wet slide over her bruised cheeks. It took a great effort to open her eyes and acknowledge the large Samoyed with a pained frown. It whimpered and half-yipped, looking over its shoulder repeatedly.

She held snow crunching underfoot, the sound getting louder as the person approached. Finally, the familiar face of her beloved brother appeared, violet eyes concerned and frightened beneath his ushanka. Kneeling in the snow beside her, he pulled off a mitten to touch her face and neck, finding her pulse. Murmuring something of a prayer in Russian, he pulled his mitten on again and stood, gathering his little sister in his arms.

The knives were grabbed as an afterthought, but once they were handed to her, Belarus felt safe again. She didn’t like being shown as weak, particularly to her brother, but being held and cared for by him was enough to make her happy.

Tucked into the fur blankets on Russia’s sled, Belarus breathed easier, holding the precious knives to her chest. “Vperyod!” The dogs yipped and jumped forward, pulled the sled and two people over the snow. Belarus dozed, falling in and out of consciousness as they travelled across the frozen tundra. Her sense of time was still lost, but that didn’t matter to her.

She would wield her knives again for him. As long as there was a Russia, she would fight for and protect him. One day he might love her, and she would continue to live and dream for that time.



END