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ah .. this image, simply would not leave me alone. I think they're both a bit OOC, but they're oc's and the world is ending and- you get the picture, ne? This is horrid, I know; and the details on the Russo-Chinese empire, and all that? Don't pay attention to them. They make no sense. XD ;
The title means 'you are always loved'.~
And comments are apprectiated, especially if this made you cry or anything, so I can aplogize properly. ; w ; '
Oh yeah. Zork and Finn, love you two. ~ <3
It was barely noon and already Nico was tired of looking for his father. It had become a game, a daily sort of thing; Amaranta had long run away with a group of vagabonds on horseback, Enzo and Ezio hiding out in the ruins of their tiny island cities, and so Nico, loyal little Barcelona, was all Spain had left of his once-family of ten. He wouldn’t leave his father if he could help it, lately meaning going on a wild goose chase just to find the man once he woke up in the morning.
“Papa?” Nico cried, breaking the birdsong and quiet chatting of the refugees sitting outside their new residence. This was one of the simpler camps, but better off than most, and better stocked with canned food and other resources they’d found invaluable as of late. Of course, no place was safe, but the city had likely been destroyed to their enemy’s standard, and the camp was practically invisible from the air.
It was the homeliest place the’d been in a while; Spain and Nico would stay for a while, help recover victims and supplies, assist in building shelters, and move on, always looking for more survivors and those in need. That had been their routine ever since-
Nico winced for his siblings in Italy, but wouldn’t distract himself at the moment. He had to focus on the here and now, and here and now was Papa, and survival.
“Paaapa! Come on, please!” He shouted, making a visor over his eyes with one hand, and peering out over the ruins. Any second now, please, Papa.
“Huh. Am I the next best thing?” A female’s voice… No. Nico shook his head and turned to the voice, despite his mind claiming he was hearing things again. Just last night, he could have sworn he heard his Mama sing a lullaby like he had when Nico was a baby, so this voice was no different-
Yasu. She was taller and much, much skinnier than he remembered, her whole body bearing the look of a well-traveled woman. She wore heavy boots on her feet, simple shorts and a t-shirt that was torn in more places than was decent, a blood-red hoodie over her shoulders and a purple kerchief tied in her chopped-up hair. Her face bore the look of someone who had seen too much, but who was blocking it out with a foreignly-cheerful smile; like everyone, she could use a bath, but as the standard went, she was a model of cleanliness and good cheer. And she was alive…
Oh my God. She was warm, too, and her heart was beating and her hands were bony and cool against the exposed skin of his hip, and Nico only realized he’d dashed forward and crushed her in a hug, murmuring ‘oh my god’ over and over into that slope of skin on her neck, more than a few moments after he’d done so.
She wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t yelling, blushing, really reacting at all. She was rubbing his back slowly as if he was crying, when he realized he was, like… Like. Nico hiccupped. Like everything has changed.
The world of his endless suiting and her rejecting him crumbled for real then, along with the world of promised safety and peace, a fridge too full with food, a world where the Vargas Fernandez family really existed. They’d been a whole entity once; and once upon a time people lived in their homes with their families, not in dirty camps hastily constructed from the ruins of someone else’s life.
Yasu must’ve gotten good at reading people at some point, because her next words answered most of the questions he wanted to ask right at that very moment.
“Mama and I just got out of Greece.” Her expression faltered for a moment, and she rubbed the back of her head, somehow apologetically. “It’s… It’s not very good. The Turks are lining up citizens and just letting loose, and.” Her eyes were downcast.
“We couldn’t really take it anymore. And back in Japan, the people left are pretty well off. We’ve even got a garden started… We’d go crazy, though, if we stayed there any longer. So after we checked Asia for surviving Nations, we drifted here to see if we could help at all. Do you think we can?”
You already have. More than you will ever realize, Yasu. You’re alive and walking and we’re both here together and I haven’t been this happy in so long ~ Nico nodded anyway; she looked so hopeful, so happy to be able to lend a hand to a life in need. Too bad she didn’t realize the life she could save was right in front of her-
The droning noise of bombers overhead had grown from a faint hum to a full-on roar, making their ears ring and keeping both their heads tilted up in their direction until they passed into specks on the horizon. Up until that moment, the two were too distracted to notice them at all. Yasu stared at Nico, worry so obvious, so sudden, on her face he was surprised it wasn’t dripping off and being mined for profit.
“Don’t worry, quierda. They’re probably on their way over to…” He squinted as he remembered what lay in the plane’s path. “Llieda, if we’re lucky. They might circle back, but lately they haven’t been doing that as much…” Nico chuckled softly, completely without humor. He wondered how long it would take to walk to Llieda and assess the damage.
“I’m used to it by now.” He motioned around them, at the rubble that was once the beautiful city of Girona; a perfect refuge now, but it had once been spectacular. How else but by bombings could it be reduced to ashes, glass, and concrete? At least the people in the city had been more paranoid than most, and had stocked up on supplies very early in the war. Every day turned a new basement full of supplies, a new dot of hope that helped lighten the black of despair that had fallen over the Spaniards as of late. Their leader had committed suicide just a few months prior, ensuring that the government would never again fall into stable control. As it seemed, it was every man for himself and those he stopped to help.
After a pause, “So… how has it been?” He asked her seriously, taking a seat atop a flat chunk of tan cement. Yasu followed suit and fell with a sigh, hands falling between her knees, and in that moment resembled an old man more than a lady of sixteen ever should.
“You know.” Nico sucks in a breath for her, remembering reports of Japan’s home-grown food supplies completely running out, their trade routes with typical suppliers cut off by members of the Russo-Chinese empire looking to punish them for not joining them willingly. Slowly everyone began to starve, famines waving across the land like a terrible fan, or citizens escaped as refugees to mainland Asia. Things hadn’t been much better there, but when one lives in conditions like that, anywhere else is a paradise, no matter how bad it actually is.
Food was still available in Japan, left in homes and supermarkets and otherwise, waiting in the sea and in private gardens to be plucked for the eating; it just so happened that there was usually a loaded gun blocking any access to it; after the Russo-Chinese Empire collapsed, it was a free-for-all, and for the first time in years children had their bellies full of food.
It took only a couple of years of uncontrolled, completely unstable life for the remaining people to turn on one another, making nearly every dark alley an enemy harboring another, causing cities to turn from havens to hells. War broke out sporadically, usually killing everyone on both sides of the line.
But by then, war was just something to do. It had lost all meaning in the eyes of those who had absolutely nothing left to live for.
Yasu rubbed her temples and again sighed deeply. “With you?” She asked softly, convinced he could only be in a better state than she. Her people, after all, were warring as if time had not left its mark upon them, and the only hope she’d ever been able to muster from the whole thing was her mother’s smile and the children’s ability to still play with dolls, to still sit and listen to birds chirp as if the world were still whole. As if there weren’t a million people dead, hundreds of thousands more missing. At least the birds still sang.
I’ve been through worse, Japan would say if Yasu ever dared complain. She didn’t want to imagine that kind of hell, and had shut her mouth from then on.
“People have been dragged into this war, completely upon their boss’s decisions. But… That’s not even close to being the worst part”- if Yasu is inching closer to him than Nico knows that God can smile indeed- “it’s…”
“Mama and Feli and Ludwig and Vash and all the rest of my siblings were all dragged into this by their bosses, by the war and famine and the Empires rising again. I can’t ever blame them for this.” Yasu tilted her head quizzically, by now defiantly closer to him than she had been when she first sat down.
“But maybe if they fought a little harder against their bosses, it’d be easier to forgive them.” Nico was staring at a shattered glass panel, doing his best to black out the thoughts that tried to make a home in his mind. He’d cried enough for himself and his shattered family; more tears gathered in his eyes anyway.
“They didn’t have a choice… Especially Alba.” Yasu murmured, thinking of Big Sister Alba, in her Coppola and slender with eating well.
Was the Alba that stood against Feliciano and Lovino really that very same girl? Was it the same finger than adjusted a child’s unruly hair, seriously used to pull the trigger? Could she possibly be one of the Sicilians who sided with the rebels pushing for an independent Sicily? Yasu bit her lip, and didn’t have to ask.
“Mama found her a few weeks ago. She was given a full funeral, buried with those they considered heroes.”
The girl with a voice nobody could quite pinpoint, with a tongue sharper than her mama’s, was dead. Yasu squeaked painfully and she held in a sob, thinking of how she was gone, could never hug one of her siblings or see with those beautiful green eyes again. What happened to her bossing Haruto around, sharing her animal crackers and teaching him all of the noises in Italian? How could she go from a big sister to a murderer so easily?
“Why did this have to happen?” She choked out finally, burying her face in her dirty hands. Nico froze, unable to predict what to do- comfort her? Let her cry? Call again for Papa? It was only getting later, but in his heart Nico knew Papa would never ever abandon him. They could wait until dinner to see each other, and with Yasu next to him perhaps he’d gain a little hope of seeing what was left of his family again someday.
“Yasu-” He swallowed his own tears and leaned in close. “Nobody can guess why. Why are we in the middle of a war when all of us just need… Need help? Why did Liechtenstein disobey her brother and lead her own country into suicide? Why has Turkey risen again? Why is Mexico now more powerful than America once was? We can answer how, but the why… It’s a luxury we’re not given anymore.”
Nico’s arms wrapped around her, for the first time not on impulse or to annoy her- simply because in that moment rubbing her back softly as she cried, he realized that his love could simply be this. Holding her in the middle of a decimated city and trying to convince her of a false reality that might calm her for a moment. Maybe if he could do that, then the world could be okay. So long as his heart could swell with love for the girl who wore her hair in braid once, then humans could march on and triumph and live.
And besides; he’d always appreciated the simple things in life.
“Daddy and Haru-nii are fighting like hell.” She mumbled against the warmth of his neck, pausing to rest her cheek there and to stare at nothing. Nico laughed quietly, able to see so clearly the quiet young man rising from his own shackles to be reborn into a warrior, his father stepping in beside him the whole way. He hopes that they crush Turkey’s face in.
“In Asia…” He murmured after a long pause, a question he hoped had a long answer. Anything else, and… Yasu sniffed and caught her breath before speaking.
“China, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, India, Nepal, Myanmar, North Korea, and Laos were the only ones we know are alive.” Yasu sniffed, her next words tight with unshed tears. “None of them are here. They all decided to stay and help back at home, except for Turkmenistan.”
Nico sat frozen with the information, not quite able to ingest it all-
“He died while we were in France.”
Nico really, truly hoped that it was time that had worn Yasu’s voice smooth of emotion. He was about to tell her of Europe’s situation, when she placed a hand on his chest to stop him.
“I can’t handle it right now. Satu told me they found Russia. That’s all I… No more.” She was shaking her head slowly, and if one saw her eyes, they’d have a good guess at what was to come. Instant guilt for being the one to make her lose her smile washed over him.
Nico simply nodded, though, and rested his chin atop her head, content to sit with her forever and to never move, never have to do anything but be in her company for all eternity. He smiles at the thought, when-
Nico? Yasu started as he stiffened suddenly underneath her, the arms that were keeping her warm falling to his side. She stood immediately, sensing something so horribly wrong that- and stared for a moment- his world, his whole world and heart and soul were being ripped apart and all he was doing was smiling and letting out a little noise like a creak or a groan or something positioned horrifically in between.
Barcelona. Miles and miles and miles away, the city of beauty is being torn apart by bombs and soldiers moving in on foot; fires burn down the streets faster than they can be outrun, buildings cannot be evacuated swiftly enough; the whole world around them is shattering, a glass rabbit crushed under the boots of the Italians. At one time, they might have stopped to admire the craftsmanship and put it back in its place. But this is war; beauty is for another time. Crushing the city quickly as possible is what comes first.
They’ve become good at it.
Prayer is a funny thing, Yasu reflects in the waters that are calm throughout all of this, as the birds sing and there is that not-so-silent silence and she cradles his head in her lap. Does God listen in a time like this?
But what could God do about- she nearly reels back as she peels his threadbare shirt away and sees the carnage, and focuses on his face and nothing nothing nothing but- what could He do for Nico? What could He say in comfort? Could He sew him back together, good as new, make the fires stop, bring the people back to life?
God is irrelevant now, says the girl who used to wear a gold cross around her slender neck.
“Nico?!” She maybe-screams, leaning over so their faces are covered to all but themselves by the hair that she used to pride herself on. She cannot believe it when his eyes, blank hazel now, open and search for hers. She cannot speak fast enough, because the light is fading from them so fast and there’s a mortal’s lifetime worth of things she didn’t get to tell him.
“I…Please Nico, ohmygod, I’ve always loved you. Wherever you go, don’t doubt that, you never should have I’m so sorry please please please. I love you. I ... Ti amo.” She strokes his cheek and wonders whose tears are glistening there. He smiles, so beautiful. She sobs all over again.
“Quierda ...”his voice is painful, but Yasu clings to every word, mouthing ‘I love you’ the whole time, desperately, trying to make up for all of the times she did not. “D-dame .. un beso?”
It is only a second before she translates, and with all of the time they do not have, she leans down and kisses him, so softly and sweetly that he is not dying at all, they are sneaking one on a hot summer day or at an altar, any alter, and she fears that she has taken his last breath when he opens his mouth again. She has to be right next to it to hear the words escaping on his breath.
“My bag.”
And he is gone.
Yasu cannot tell if she is screaming anymore.
~
Japan rubs his daughters back as she spits pale pink blood onto his shirt, her throat so raw from use that her words are no longer intelligible unless she focuses on making them so. She is clinging to him like she did once, as a baby, her wispy hair in pigtails and tiny feet in socks. When the world was still made sense.
He wonders if Heracles and Haruto are faring well, and judges that yes, they are. He is still alive, so they are too.
They will pack up and move out once Yasu is fit to do so; now, she simply lies next to her Mother and whimpers, occasionally accepts some water or bread, but not much else. Japan fears that they are becoming a burden upon the refugees, but the doting care they place upon his daughter does not seem forced at all. It is almost as if the women are glad to have someone so dependant to care for once again.
Until then, he will work with the man who was probably called Spain once, digging through the rubble and helping some, laying others to rest.
And every day, he will visit Nico’s grave, and try to make sense of it all.
~
Yasu is finally ready. To walk, yes; she has been all along, because even if her mind isn’t her legs are strong and healthy; but she is ready to finally follow his instructions and look in his bag.
Opening the simple canvas bag feels almost like an invasion of privacy, but do the dead have privacy? She wonders, and rummages through the food, small items, clothes, and otherwise, for something that feels like a prize. A necklace or ring is expected; more than anything, though, she hopes it’s something on paper.
Finally, she produces an envelope addressed to her in oddly neat writing; it’s thin, only containing a sheet or so of paper. It’s all Yasu can do not to rip it open and apart, but she reminds herself that delicious things are best savored.
Her fingers tremble as she produces the page, smelling of ink and smoke and promise. Flat on her butt she sits to read it for the first of many, many times.
Yasu,
I’m not good at this sort of thing. Letters, computers, phones… Anything that’s not face-to-face is hard for me. So forgive me for any awkwardness that might be coming as you read. And please keep your laughter in until the very end, for me?
I’m dead. If you’re reading this, Barcelona has been destroyed and I am no more. If not, smack me and return this letter to the envelope right now; this isn’t for your eyes. But quierda, if I am in the earth or lost at sea or buried in rubble, then please feel free to go on ahead.
I don’t mind being dead, I think. I know that life is worth it, but… And even though wherever I’m going is as crowded as a championship football match, I’ll meet Alba and Emilio and everyone again. We’ll hug and tell stories and have a grand old time. It’ll be great, Yasu, wherever I’m going. Be happy for me, not sad. I probably suffered before my death, even though it’s morbid to think of it, but everyone else has, so why should I be any different? But even that, I’m okay with. So long as I got a kiss before the very end. ;3
But for the love of all that is holy, Yasu, do not follow me. Even if you lose your mama, your papa and your brother, fight with all the strength you’ve got to stay alive. Do it for me, please, if anything. Reward me for all my hard work, all those years ago. Because I’m okay with me being dead. You, I can’t bear to picture it. You’re too full of life, you make others smile… Yasu, that is so rare these days. Your smile could save a life and then some.
Never underestimate that, a kind word, offering a seat next to you. All of those things, I have done, and the people who receive them look… I can’t describe it, but please. Just allow them your life and vigor and all that you have to offer, because the world is bigger than you are. We should know that better than anyone. But if you can make another person happy, then who are you to take your own life and not use that gift?
The birds sing, quierda. The sun rises, it sets, it rains, and the tides come and go. We cannot think of this as an end. It’s a beginning, so beautiful and white, it hurts to think about. This world has been soiled by our parents, so much is true. Perhaps even some of us are to blame.
And here are only a handful of us Nations left. There will be new nations, in time, newly recognized borders. People will clean up, will have children, and they’ll laugh and cry and feel happy. Just like us. We march on, Yasu, never forget that. Life is a parade. It is a wonderful, terrifying, exhilarating march. To miss out on it… Do you never want to share soup with your mama again? Uncover a person who considered themselves left for dead? Never feel, laugh, cry, scream, run... Life is painful, but it is a beautiful pain, si? Never, ever forget that. Please remember, that no matter how bleak something is, no matter how bad you are hurting, there will always be a purpose, a beauty behind it. Remember beauty and live on.
As I’ve said, I’m dead. You are not. So live. Find someone to love, laugh with them. Make a pun, share some food, tell them how dumb we used to be. I don’t want my memory, if it will at all, to bog you down. If it does not involve your death, I give all my blessing. Fly free! You’re a bird, a beautiful dove, not a groundbound quail. Remember this, Yasu: you are not delicious. Repeat it to yourself and never forget.
Please tell Papa and Mama and everyone else that they shouldn’t worry, I haven’t forgotten them at all. But to them, I’ve said everything I need to. Tell them that I’m sorry for leaving them, sorry they have to go to the effort of digging my grave, and thanks, Mama, for putting up with me. I could be a real brat sometimes, but I always tried my hardest to make him proud. I really did. Papa needs to move on and search for Amaranta and Enzo and Ezio and rebuild his family. I was too small, too irresponsible to be his family. I’ve failed in that respect, and tell him I’m sorry for that too. And tell them all that I love them.
But Yasu, to you I haven’t said half the things I should have. Do you know that when you smile you nearly send me into cardiac arrest; that on that single date we had, the times you touched me generated enough electricity to power all of Tokyo for a night?
That more often than not I dreamed of you, that I tried to write songs just to… Just to let out my feelings, and they never came out right. They landed in the wastebasket, all of them, because none of them were close to matching even the beauty of your big toe. I cannot even tell you now, how smitten I was- I am.
I love you, Yasu. Just know that. Aishiteru, s’agapo. Please accept my feelings for what they are… And don’t revisit the past. It’s too dangerous, now, and I fear if you try to remember what we had, what could have been, you’ll never be recovered. It never happened. All that there is is a new headstone and this letter in your hands, I suppose.
I love you, and I’m sorry for leaving you like this. Never give up, because you will always be loved.
But Yasu, take my death and use it! If you want to say something, hug someone or love them, remember the poor boy who never got to lay with you, and just feel your heartbeat. Think of how sad he is to never have done that, to never have held your hand in public, never have... I suppose you know where I’m going with this.
Yes, I think of that. Quite often, actually. Go ahead and hate me now.
But just… You are alive. Never take that for granted. Now go. Go find your mama, leave a token of gratitude for those who cared for you, and live. Help others live; because even if a million people are missing, there are a million people who could be alive. Give them the gift that’s been taken from me, please. Do it in my name if you please; or forget all about this and drop the paper in the next river you see.
Now, I hope this isn’t… It isn’t too terrible and corny and awkward. I don’t know if you’ll even get this letter, or if you’re even reading up to this point. If you are, thank you.
I love you, remember.
Always and forever yours, Nico Vargas Fernandez.
~
Yasu stares at the paper, not surprised that tears are falling again, that her chest hurts and her face burns and the feeling is so familiar, it’s almost like an old friend coming to visit again.
But, she thinks as she stands, slinging his bag over her shoulder, these tears are good ones.
They mean that I can rebuild, I can save lives, and I can bring the joy to others that he’s started to return to me.
Perhaps there’s beauty left in the world after all. I just have to look close enough to find it.
The next morning she and Japan are gone, all that is left of them a letter written in Yasu’s loopy script tucked carefully under Spain’s arm.
 men getting pregnant · Wed Oct 14, 2009 @ 02:54am · 2 Comments |
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