You Who Call Me Brother [China]

Of course he was dressed for war, war surrounded them and far be it a precaution for China—it was, but not at the forefront of his mind—the journey to the orient of this land could have been perilous for the country. Did that go unnoticed by Yao? That Japan had tempted battle after battle to see his brother who was on the opposite side of him during the war just as he had been long ago? Of course he had been in the wrong then, he had come to realize that, but now Japan wanted to fall to his knees and ask him why. Why had China done this? Japan was not a weak nation, nor he was one for displays of emotion, but for China? He’d have crawled on his hands and knees if the country would just forgive him and back down from siding with Russia.

Now he’d do almost anything to see Yao smile at him.

“Why are you surprised that I have come, it is not you with whom I have a quarrel with,” he asked him, even though he knew the answer. Yet Yao did not see the truth. Japan had not turned on China, not here and not now. He’d not betrayed him. Instead he felt it was China who had betrayed him. He had allowed Russia to attack him without even trying to stop the cold nation. Then he had joined his cause! Japan was not fighting against him, he didn’t want to. Wasn’t that obvious? He did not want to fight! He hadn’t wanted to ever fight again and just like all the nations always did, they’d drug him into it against his will.

Anger blossomed in the nation, but he tried to let it go with a deep breath. Rashness was not to be had here. It would not help him. Japan did not think himself safe during the journey and were he to tell China that he did feel safe at least here with him, how would the nation react? It was true China could capture him, he could keep him, and yet all he’d do was break Japan’s spirit more. Japan loved his brother, but they had hurt each other time and time again. Still he did love him and no matter how he hurt him, Japan knew he would never stop. He wished it was back in the early days when he was young. Everything had been so much easier then.

“Do you truly not know why I am here? Do you doubt me so, Yao-san?” His question was soft and for the first time since he’d entered, he looked to the floor. Sadness and respect caused that reaction. He could not meet China’s gaze anymore nor could he move.

Japan allowed himself to be pulled further in before he pulled his arm away and his gaze pinpointed on the older nation. “You are being blind not logical,” he said and took his hat off and pressed it between his side and arm. “Our relationship may be strained, it may be hard, but I never wished to be your enemy, Yao, and I am not.”

Japan would consider himself many things, America’s friend, Russia’s enemy, but not Yao’s. It wasn’t a lie that they had their differences, but even then Japan never thought himself aimed against him. He fought and killed China’s men because when they came supporting Russian fighters, what choice did his military have? Yao would have done the same thing Kiku’s men had they come in support of some other nation. That made them equal and unlike Yao, Japan took no offense to that. Why be offended at the inevitable? China had a right to defend itself as much as Japan did. The past was supposed to be in the back, but Japan was sure it wasn’t. Yao just didn’t understand that love did not equate possession. Japan could love Yao to the end of his soul and yet he could not come home. China was not his home—his people needed him. China would have felt the same way had Japan asked him to come live with him.

“I am exactly how I’ve always been,” Japan told him. “I’m your brother. I’m Kik-kun and instead of remembering that, you and Russia had to go and assume. Assume based off what proof? I’ve mainly stayed from international affairs for decades before now.” He turned away from Yao and shook his head. “America had respected my decision. I was going to declare neutrality—I was going to take a place as an aid nation. You taught me not to take an attack lightly so when Russia attacked, I entered the war. You were already on his side so I could not ask you for your help and break the harmony between you and Russia.” He sighed. “Russia dragged me into the war, and him alone. Yao, how many times have I told you that you must see the trees and not just the forest?”

He turned to him and his eyes were distant. “You became lost in the forest and you assumed just as everyone always does with me. Yet you claim to know me. What in my nature now tells you I wished to join a war against you? You listened to Russia instead of realizing how well you know your brother. So yes, you did doubt me and you act as if you do not know me anymore.”

He was sick of the assumptions. Sick that anyone believed there was another choice than the one he'd chosen. China thought he should have surrendered? It had been China who had taught Honda to remain steadfast and fight until it became impossible. Russia had besieged him in a sorry attempt with soldiers and aircraft far less capable of air and sea warfare than Japan's. So surrender to Russia? That had not been an option and if Russia and China wished it so, then Ivan was going to have try harder to crush the island nation. But he would not lay down his arms to that winter general, and he would not seek refuge here as if he was a child. He was a nation and his people needed him; he'd listened to his boss and he knew logically who he had to join. So he'd had a choice? No, China was wrong. There had never been a choice.

What little choice he had had, Russia clawed it from his fingers at the first sight of forces on Japan's horizon.

China could believe that Japan had had a choice. That didn't bother him, but that he believed his confessions of love to be nothing more than pretty words was the slap on the face. He believed Japan was lying. Honda hated lying. He hated lies, but he also equally hated assumptions. Yet everyone always assumed of him; at least that's what he felt like.

So no, Japan was not convincing himself: China was. If anyone was lying to themselves it was China. Japan was closer to America than China was Iran. America was Japan's best friend and yet Alfred's declaration of war had not swayed Japan to do the same. Japan wanted peace and harmony just as much as China, but getting involved in these conflicts would not bring it. Enough had happened in the Middle East already because of the greed and foolishness of one of America's previous bosses. Had no one looked back in hindsight? Did no one know that war did not bring peace? War brought bloodshed, harm, and death; not serenity. There was nothing harmonious about warfare! So let China think Japan was choosing death. Honda only saw the logic and reality that Yao was blind to—and to think it had been Wang who had taught him the definition of peace and harmony. But that did not mean that Japan took China as a fool. He wouldn't.

However, Japan was no fool either.

When Yao turned away and began to speak to his guard Japan lifted his head. He knew Chinese and so had no trouble knowing what the guard had been ordered, but that had been China's point, right? The stoicism blood from Honda's face.

"Anata wa, watashi ga anata o kōgeki suru tame ni koko ni iru to omou?" You think I'm here to attack you? "That's rash and foolish, Niisan!" His voice was sharp and sang in hurt. How could he think that? Had he not been polite? He'd not went for his weapon even once. Honda pursed his lips and watched as Yao released his hair from it's tie. He watched it cascade down China's back—he remembered when his own hair had been that long and he'd pulled it up as well, though higher in a fashion his own country had embraced.

When those raven locks brushed down China's back, Japan knew what Yao was doing; what he was drawing attention to. "I am not the country I was then." Even though Japan would not say the exact words either, China would know what he meant. He would also know how Japan felt about it; regret and begging knotted his voice. He was sorry for the pain he'd caused him and he'd always be. If he could have taken it away, he would have. He still would in a heartbeat. He closed his eyes.

How many of your soldiers are pushing against the India-Pakistan front?

Honda took a step back and placed his uniform cap back on his head. "I understand when I have trespassed. I see I was mistaken, Yao-san. You do not wish to see me as I thought. Forgive me for wrongly interpreting you." He bowed. "I will take my leave. Sayōnara."

He hesitated, however, and ran his fingers along the grip of his katana and felt its fabric weave. "But in answer to you, twenty-thousand."

He turned to face the door. China wanted him no closer, then he would do as Yao would not; he would leave with no more confrontation. He could accept China, his choices and still love him, too bad the road was not the same for Yao.

Vile?

Nothing Kiku had said or done even hinted that he held hatred for Yao. Frustration? Yes. Hurt? Of course. Even love, but never hate. He was not standing against China; he was standing against Russia and China could have stayed out of it. He had that choice: to let Russia and Japan fight as they had long ago during the Russo-Japanese war but, no. China had chosen this; chosen to stand against HIM. Not the other way around. He'd gotten involved in a fight that did not concern him. Russia and Japan's relationship was their business, but China had always been a meddler.

Kiku did not hate Yao. If there was any argument for of them despising the other, it was the other way around. His behavior and his knifing words had done enough to paint China as the one who held the hate for Japan.

All Japan had ever wanted was for Wang to let go of the foolish grudge between them. So China was communist? Japan didn't care. How was it impossible for them to be who they were and yet get along? It wasn't a new notion. Other nations had and were still friends despite such things. So if Japan saw China's frustration at him for being democratic as ridiculous, he could be forgiven. There was nothing beyond help or reasoning between them. Japan believed that. Kiku could give a little, but Yao... China just wanted to take. He'd just take if Japan gave in even just a little. While Japan saw China as equal, the consideration was not returned. Yet all he had to do was take Kiku's hand. There would be no expectations from the island nation.

He'd always be Kik-kun, but China...China didn't see that. His vision had been diluted and corrupted. He thought Japan was here to fight despite his words, he doubted him. There was nothing in Kiku that wanted to fight Yao; not here and now. How could he not see that? Everything Kiku had done was to prove that: his behavior and words had been stiff perhaps but polite. Why couldn't Yao see it? See him? Kiku had changed. He wasn't the nation that had marched and attacked China, leaving him with a scar to remember it always. He'd come so far since then. He'd matured so much.

Was China the one who was slipping away? Japan felt so.

Harmony could have been so easily returned between them.

Kiku had accepted that as long as China remained in this war there would be no reasoning. His hopes were dashed. He'd just wanted to see Yao and raise above the bloodshed. So Kiku turned to leave then to save them both more heartache. This was a battle Japan had no choice but to retreat from.

But then Yao shot him.

The sound deafened him. For a moment he went numb. But he knew. Before the pain and the flower of crimson opened over his chest, Kiku knew China had been aiming for him. He'd hit his mark. The bullet burst his lungs and penetrated his heart.

Kiku crumbled but did not fall at first. His knees shook and his lungs filled with blood. He tasted the copper as he coughed, he looked up, and his eyes met Yao's.

Tears mixed with the blood that stained his chin as he continued to cough. Why? Why had he done this? Why?

"Niisan..." Kiku reached up with a quivering arm to steady himself, to grab onto China for support. Grab him for answers. Everything was growing black around the edges of his vision. "Yao-"

BANG

Yao-kun...

His eyes rolled back and his body collapsed to the floor.

If only that been the last thing he saw as he fell into unconsciousness. It was not to be, though. In his unconscious he was haunted by what he was sure was never to be again.

He awoke with a painful cry that made his chest burn all the more. It hurt to breathe and his vision was blurry.

He was crying. He'd been sobbing even before he'd awakened.

He'd dreamt of sitting on China's stairs much as he'd done so many times when he was younger. The night was, the air fragrant, and at his side Yao was with him. Under the moonlight they spoke--actually spoke. They laughed and the past did not exist. Kiku's heart had been filled with pure joy and he let it show. The Yao he remembered was back and not the man who distrusted him so. It was even better than he remembered; neither were angry. They were just China and Japan: Yao and Kiku.

They were friends.

Yet even in his dreams Kiku knew it wasn't true. That was why he'd awoken crying, but just as China had predicted the sobs only irritated his still healing lungs. He sputtered into a coughing fit that only made his chest ache all the more. He felt as he'd swallowed a heated sword. His coughs were also the reason he'd discovered his arms and legs were chained and how he'd come to realize that Yao was perched over him. He did not fight or scream at the nation who now seemed to be full of sympathy and care for the other he'd mercilessly shot. Fighting would waste energy even if he knew he could probably snap the chains. He needed to heal from this weakened state which would do nothing to help him now. From the corner of his eyes he saw the guards. Unnecessary; only a fool would try to escape now ignoring the shape they were in and how they were surrounded.

So Japan went limp and even as his eyes continued to mist he was silent. His expression was distant and dead; he was in pain physically but refused to cry out. Emotionally, however, he felt nothing. His heart vibrated numbly. After being shot in the heart how ironically appropriate was it to not feel?

The sunlight did not move him, the scenery of China's reflection pool evoked nothing, and as for the nation himself who was coddling him after attacking him so cowardly? Kiku stared beyond him and felt nothing.

Yao smiled and Kiku's mouth remained straight. When he dabbed his head with the damp cloth Japan gave no reaction. The Asian nation had either retreated into himself or had chosen to be unresponsive. He didn't seem bothered that he'd been stripped and his dignity intruded on without his permission.

Only his eyes moved and his chest rose to show he was still alive.

China's words went without replies, but Kiku heard them. He was listening and he was aware even if Yao's touches didn't even bring about a flinch. Japan was weak and hurt more than just physically. That bullet had pierced his heart, but shattered the soul of the nation into far more pieces.

His lips were limp beneath Yao's.

Mulishness, while a trait he possessed though expressed subtly, was not the reason for Kiku’s immobility. It was his horror and hurt that stilled him. For Kiku it certainly felt like his life was over. It hurt to breathe but shallowly, though he knew it would pass. But what hurt the worse was that the nation he’d respected and trusted to be honorable had stabbed him in the back with no warning and no hint of such intent. Even when he’d wounded China there had been intent and not this…this cowardice. Yao could be worried, but this was the wrong way to do it. Family did not do this, he’d learned. And he’d learned it the hard way as he watched his sword drip red from the wound he’d caused to China.

This was not best. This was torture. He didn’t need protecting from Russia, he needed protecting from the person he thought he’d never need to be protected from such gutless attacks.

Kiku’s lashes brushed his cheeks as Yao inspected his chest. He knew it looked back, but he’d looked worse. Chemical burns down his hip and thigh which were scars from Hiroshima’s bombing, his knee blasted open and gaping from Nagasaki and himself? Poisoned from the chemicals of such an attack; sickly and weak. Two scars and sometimes symptoms that plague him from radiation poisoning in his body. Now he’ll have another one. That’s what he thought as he followed Yao’s movements to the window. He did not comment or reply. His throat was parched and ached and besides what could he have commented? With him in China’s house of course Russia was no longer a threat. That did nothing to comfort Kiku, though.

His mouth opened as if to comment when China revealed Vietnam was coming. No, he didn’t have to ask which sister. He shut it and instead swallowed thickly. He smiled sadly. He did not want to see her, not like this. It was a shame. It was undignifying.

He turned his cheek to his palm and he tried to hide his pain that his allies had seen him that way. More shame bubbled up in him, but he does not let it show. Instead he just observed Yao and then when those lips were are once more against his, he pressed back into them. He returned the kiss. “I don’t want to see Thi like this,” his voice was raw when he finally spoke. “My chest hurts.” He wanted to be able to move. He couldn’t run away even though he wanted to go home. He stared up at China in pain and found his mouth again beseechingly.