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Rebuilding Japan	By : saxonjesus Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1796 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-Rebuilding Japan
- 2-Part 2
- 1
- 2
Rebuilding Japan
It seemed he was always trying to forget things. Well, not forget per se, because his people never forgot, but covering over, storing it for the moment in the back of his closet so that it could be found later and remembered in all its glory. Somehow though, all the glorious things he had done seemed so much less amazing after being stuffed in storage for a decade or two. Hell, even after just a year, all the sparkle had worn off the memories of victory. Though, as he recalled, it hadn't been all that shiny when it had happened. More like bloody, and as much as a hero never wanted to say, admittedly guilty. He still remembered the awful, humid days of August, sun beating down on weary soldiers' backs as they fought even after Germany had surrendered. He knew he shouldn't have taken such drastic measures, but Japan had seemed so unstoppable. Not even the defeat of his allies could stop him from trying to rise above and beyond his formerly isolated island home.
He had been with a nervous-looking Lithuania at the time, if he recalled correctly, drinking coffee. He'd just dropped the second bomb the previous day, and though he felt uneasy, he just kept sipping on the bitter drink until all he could think about was the fact that it looked like Japan was finally going to surrender.
"You look a bit peaky, Toris," he commented offhandedly.
"Yes, well, Ivan has been rather overbearing lately, going on about how I must help others 'become one' with him," the other Nation replied timidly. Now that Alfred looked, he thought he saw Lithuania's hand shaking a little as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips.
"Don't worry about it; I'm sure he's just being a bit eccentric again." Alfred shrugged. He wasn't entirely sure of Lithuania's safety, but he couldn't voice that thought out loud without alarming the other Nation. "Can I warm your cup?" He added, noticing that Toris's cup was nearly empty.
"Yes, please."
Standing up, Alfred walked over to the little tray in the corner, on which a pot of coffee--half full, as they'd already consumed a good portion of it--stood. He picked it up, careful not to slosh the contents around too much, and proceeded to refill Toris's mug.
Abruptly, the door to his study opened, and Alfred jumped in surprise. The contents of the coffee pot spewed forth directly onto Lithuania's lap, and the Nation gasped as the burning hot liquid seeped through his coat and pants. Alfred didn't get a chance to apologize for the mess, though, as an irate Arthur, thick eyebrows nearly obscuring his eyes with a scowl that engaged his entire face, strode over next to him and poked him accusingly in the chest.
"Alfred, what the hell did you do to Japan?" He roared, and it was not for the first time that America felt his former colonizer's full might. The lightning in his eyes, green as the grass in Ireland, hinted at an anger the younger Nation had only seen a few times before.
"I told you I would get him to surrender." The younger Nation replied calmly. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to be seeing the accusation in his ally's eyes. He didn't want to have to face this just yet.
"Yes, you told us you'd get him surrender, not that you'd turn him into a bloody, mangled pulp!" The rage was clear in Arthur's features, reminding Alfred of his younger days, when they had been brothers and he had rebelled. That was another glory tarnished by time and truth.
"Sometimes a hero's choice is difficult," Alfred said, not letting the guilt he was feeling show at all in his eyes. He had done what he had to, even if that meant attacking someone in their sleep. Even if that meant betraying someone close to him.
"Well, Mister Hero, go clean up your mess. I have a feeling he was trying to get to you, but didn't make it. I found him this morning, collapsed on my porch. Go be a hero, and maybe you'll be forgiven." With that, the older Nation walked out, not looking back at all, which was Arthur's style, complete with straight back and pressed uniform.
For a while, there was silence, during which Alfred could only blink. Then, he cleared his throat and turned to his astonished-looking guest.
"I'm sorry," he said, though it came out more like a meek mumble, "both for the mess just now and for spilling coffee on you. I have to go now." He ended his abrupt statement by trailing off into silence. Gathering his courage, he left his guest--Lithuania was more than at home at America's place--and went to search for the "mess" he had left behind.
He didn't have to look far. Kiku had apparently made it farther than Britain's house now. He was only a few yards from Alfred's front door, face-down in the ground and covered in horrible burns. There were places on his body where bone was visible. The air above him sizzled with radiation, and it was obvious the Eastern Nation had passed out again. Behind him was a trail of blood, a crimson parody of a snail's path.
Rushing over to the collapsed Nation, Alfred could only note a greater number of injuries. Each time he uncovered a new one, each time the blood began to flow just a little bit faster, his stomach lurched and it became very hard to keep his early lunch down.
He had done this. He, Alfred F. Jones, had done this, to another Nation no less. It was one thing to make war, but it was another to see, first-hand, what resulted from that decision. Yes, this act of violence was likely to secure a surrender from Japan, but at what cost? He knew he had killed many, many people--innocent people--but if he just kept telling himself it was a worthy sacrifice, maybe that churning feeling in his chest would go away.
But this was Kiku. Maybe that's why the feeling wouldn't go away when he tried to console himself. His body was disgusted with itself. He had hurt Kiku and that was unforgivable in his mind, and no amount of denial was going to relieve him of this all-encompassing loathing of his actions. Picking up the feeble Nation, careful not to jar as many injuries as possible, Alfred carried the bleeding Nation back to his home.
He bathed and bandaged Japan and lay him down on his guest bed, taking care that Kiku was as comfortable as his burned back would allow. Then he waited, leaving only once to have Kiku's leader surrender at the formal ceremony a few days later.
It was there, on the USS Missouri, moored in Tokyo Bay, that Alfred decided to survey the damages his decision had wrought, though just one look at Kiku had been more than enough. Disembarking, he traveled down to the south of the country. He slipped into Hiroshima. The city was flattened, an even layer of debris coating the ground. Some structures remained, especially farther out of the city, but for the most part, nothing existed. As Alfred got closer to the drop site, he started noticing people-shaped shadows on the ground. They were grotesque in that life had quite literally been obliterated in these places.
Alfred wanted to resolve that he would never use such a treacherous device ever again, but he knew that his leaders would ultimately make that decision, not him. Just like the idea to bomb Kiku. Still, as the hero, he had had to go through with it.
He did not want to even look at Nagasaki, couldn't stand the knowledge that he had destroyed so much, but he forced himself to go on. It was his punishment. He could not atone for what he had done, not like this, but he deserved to see the horrors he had brought to this fragile Earth.
It had been after his visit to the country that housed Kiku Honda that America decided that there was only one way to atone for this unforgivable sin. Just like Europe was rebuilding Germany, he would rebuild Japan.
Now, a year later, Alfred could not say that he had fully atoned, but where Kiku had once been despondent, he now clung to the white sheets of the bed in America's guest room. He talked of things other than the dead and the pain, and he expressed interest in standing on his own again. Kiku was finally healing, Alfred thought, running a hand gently through the Eastern Nation's short hair. It had fallen out way back at the beginning of his stay at the younger Nation's house, but though it was thin, it was beginning to regrow. Just like his body, still burned and aching but no longer bleeding, Japan was moving on.
A small hand came up to grasp at the loose fabric of Alfred's sleeve.
"Why?" He asked, not for the first time, but just like always, Alfred shook his head and looked down fondly at his guest.
"Now is not the time to hear an answer you already know," he said simply. "Just concentrate on healing, okay?"
"I've healed enough. Tell me, will you play baseball with me?" Though he looked groggy, Kiku was firm in his request.
Alfred smiled and ruffled Japan's bangs. "Of course," he said. "I'll build you huge stadiums, and we can play with your people as well."
"Good." And then the Nation smiled. It was the first time since before the bombing that Kiku had smiled at him. With the autumn sunlight playing off his skin and shining through is hair, he almost looked healthy, slightly less haunted, as if he didn't still have the nightmares to which Alfred was always witness. His screaming pleas of "why" and "help." It hurt to see that smile, because the blond Nation knew that it was genuine, and that he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve the other Nation's forgiveness. Even though that was the one thing Alfred wanted the most.
---
"Geez, Kiku, you don't have to try to pelt me with the ball!" Alfred exclaimed jokingly, even though he didn't care. Penance, penance. Anything to make the slightly older Nation feel better. For his part, Kiku was very calculating on the diamond. Though the pitch was smaller than he was used to, Alfred would give anything to just let Japan have fun for the first time in so long. The long-term effects of the bombs were still taking effect on the other Nation's already weakened body--so many of his people were still dying, a great majority of them caused by cancer--but Japan seemed keen on not letting it get to him.
"Of course I do. We are competing, you and me," Kiku explained, the ghost of a smile haunting his lips. It was good to see it there again, but it still hurt, more so than the first had. Like a hot metal rod against his feeble hero's heart, each expression of anything other than pain or misery reminded Alfred of why it was necessary to take such extremes just to see them.
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean you have to try and kill me!"
"You and I both know that it takes much, much more to kill a Nation, Alfred," Japan said in a hushed tone. His dark eyes were haunted and far away as the Nation relived what had happened on that hot August day. He stumbled a little bit before regaining his bearings again, but Alfred had already crossed the diamond at a run to catch him should he fall.
"Do you want to stop?" The blond Nation asked, worried. Japan shook his head.
"We're here to play a game." With a determined grimace, he tossed the ball the few feet between them and gestured for America to go back to his original position. "So let's play."
They continued for the next hour or so before Kiku started to sway with fatigue. Gathering the other Nation up before he fell to the ground, Alfred carried him back home. Once Japan was back in bed, he went off to grab a tea set. It was a ritual they had followed meticulously over the past several months--every afternoon at around four, the two of them would have tea together. It reminded America a little bit of his early days with England, back when they used to take their afternoon tea together. Only this was very different.
They sat on pillows on the floor next to a low-level table. They would kneel and prepare tea from Japan's home, and then they would drink it. Always, without exception, this would occur, as ingrained in their schedule as brushing teeth in the morning, as eating hamburgers.
This time was different. This time, as he looked at Kiku's smaller form, Alfred saw something different than the once-enemy he was helping to heal; this time, he saw something beneath the vulnerability and weakness that had been forced to show. Alfred saw a man, a proud, intelligent man who took his tea without any sugar or milk at all. But he saw something else, as well, something inexplicably soft under all the layers of seeming indifference.
For the first time in his short century-and-a-half of life, Alfred's heart moved.
Kiku Honda--Japan--was kind of cute. In a manly way, yes, but attractive nonetheless. Soft eyes, dark, silken hair, and a lean body all housed an inspiring personality. Alfred realized, probably for the first time, that he had more to be sorry for than he had previously imagined. The near-destruction of such a perfect individual, Nation or a member of said Nation's populace, was more of a sin than he could fully comprehend. Immediately, his guilt and regret renewed themselves, and with a twisted smile, Alfred left the table.
"America-san!" Kiku called after him, sounding alarmed. Alfred didn't listen, though. He just needed to get away, needed to run from that gut-wrenching smile that was now glued to his retinas like a fly to flypaper.
The sound of padding feet came from behind him, but the blond Nation continued to ignore Japan's apparent distress.
"America-san!" Kiku called again. His voice sounded rough and strained, like just making a sound was causing him undue stress. Alfred turned around. He was feeling horrible, but if he ignored Japan when he was in pain, would that not further his debt to the other Nation?
He turned in time to see Kiku hit the floor, fragile hair floating above him before sinking to the ground next to the still injured Nation. The day had really worn Kiku out, America knew that, but for some reason, he had gotten into his big, pig head that he could be selfish.
Running over to Japan so that he could tend to the Nation, Alfred felt his chest become heavy. Once again, this was entirely his fault. If only he hadn't run away, if only he could have stopped his government from ordering the bomb to be dropped...
He remembered telling Kiku who had done it when he'd first become aware, remembered the revulsion in the smaller Nation's face and then the look of helplessness as he realized he could not move away. That expression had long since passed, but its memory was always there, burned into America's mind right next to the never-ending mantra of I must rebuild Japan...
Selfishness, putting himself before his guest, was unacceptable.
Once again, he carried Japan back to the guest bed. The cup of tea was shattered on the floor next to the table, obviously having been dropped in Kiku's haste to follow him. Alfred would have to sweep it up later. Perhaps he would take that time to understand why his emotions seemed to be so strange lately. But first, he would tuck his guest into bed, make him as comfortable as his still weak body would allow.
He could ignore the slight increase in heart rate as he watched Kiku's chest rise and fall in rhythmic intervals. So, too, could he ignore the sweet, curveless line of Kiku's torso and the barest hint of nipples poking at the light fabric of the sheets. A blush set slowly into Alfred's cheeks, coloring him rose. He sat down on the edge of the bed and began to card his hand through Kiku's thin hair. Several strands still came out at each touch, but the effect was much diminished from when it had first started falling out. Kiku sighed and turned into the touch, still asleep.
"I am so sorry for what I've done to you, Japan. I promise you I will make up for it in any way possible," he breathed, so quiet that it was but a whisper among the movement of sheets and the late-afternoon songs of the birds, so quiet that only Alfred could hear it uttered. Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a tender, gentle kiss to the Eastern Nation's forehead. It was sweet and soft, like the smile Kiku had worn earlier that afternoon, while they had played baseball together. Smoothing Japan's hair once more, Alfred looked away. He would do something far worse to the other Nation if he let himself be this selfish.
Instead, he decided to look out the West-facing window. The afternoon sun's glare had fallen below the bottom of the glass, so it was tolerable to look at again, and instead of mopping up the mess of tea and porcelain on the dark, hardwood floor, America just continued to look straight out at the freedom and wonder in the world. And in this moment, this frozen moment of complete awe and thunderstriking beauty, Alfred thought.
Japan was important to him, his smile the highlight of America's day. His earnestness to remember the fun in life, to drink tea and play baseball and enjoy that he was still alive struck a cord deep within Alfred's heart. Every expression the older Nation made, every sigh, every intonation of "America-san" made Alfred feel warm in a way he never had before. And loathe though he was to admit it, he enjoyed that feeling immensely and only wanted to bask in it some more. Maybe for eternity. Just him--and Kiku, of course--and that overflowing feeling of warmth. And of safety.
And he still felt guilty for nearly killing Japan, for destroying two of his cities and for wanting the Nation around.
The sound of sheets moving preceded the twining of arms around Alfred's middle. He gasped in surprise, for he had barely been present in the moment, introspecting as he was. Looking down, he noticed that Kiku's arms were really rather small when compared with his. Without thinking, he placed his hands over Kiku's. It spread that same warmth he had just been thinking about all over him, like he'd just been submerged in a hot bath. His heart beat rapidly, especially when Japan moved his fingers so that they could weave through his.
Kiku's head was next to his right thigh, his face flushed from what little sleep he had just had after passing out. Alfred thought he looked rather like a painting, especially as the dimming sun still lit his pale golden skin enough that it nearly sparkled in its brilliance. They looked at each other for a long while, neither speaking, neither moving, except for the play of fingers against fingers.
And then, slowly, Kiku smiled. It was thin and wavering, but it stayed on his face for another eternal moment, and then he uttered "America-san," like it was something perfect, like Alfred was wanted.
He wanted to respond, maybe to dip down and let their lips find each other, but that was a forbidden thought, a horrible, wrong thought that must never be thought of again.
The blond Nation looked away, unable to keep the gaze without doing something unspeakable to Kiku. He wouldn't, never would, give in to whatever notions had set into his mind over the year that Japan had been with him.
He was not looking at Japan's face to see the slight expression of disappointment.
---
He had been expecting this day to come, probably for a very, very long time. In the seven years since he had taken Japan to his home, he had come to enjoy the other Nation's presence. But now, Kiku was growing strong again. Almost all of his hair stayed in its rightful place--he even had to shave again, so America had had to run off to the nearest store to buy him a razor. It wasn't surprising when the statement came. Still, America was stunned to hear it.
"What?" He asked.
"I think it's time I go home, America-san," Kiku repeated, his tone determined. Japan had become a lot more sure of himself lately, especially in the last six months.
"Oh." He would not give away his disappointment. "I understand. Yes, you probably should..." Oh, great, now he was rambling. Japan smirked a little and let him continue on saying nonsensical things for the next minute or so before finally, timidly, interrupting him.
"Anou, America-san, I feel like I should be back in my own home. I need to be nearer my people. Perhaps it will expedite my healing."
"Yes, of course..." Anything that would make the other Nation heal faster was fine by him. Really, it was.
"After all, it is your fault I'm like this, and I think you've done all you can."
Japan's words were like an arrow through his heart, but Alfred took them regardless.
"I am sorry," he said again, trying to convey just how much he meant that. Japan looked up at him with those deep, dark eyes, and America shuddered. He was not allowed to enjoy that gaze, no, he was not.
"Yes, I know. Thank you for letting me stay here while I recuperated." And then he turned and left, leaving Alfred to understand just how much he loved having the Eastern Nation around.
"Always," he whispered, long after Japan had left. He still stood there, the empty hallway seeming more dull and barren than it had just a few minutes before, back when Kiku had been standing there. He didn't know what to do. His strange fascination with the other Nation was starting to become debilitating. Having just one Nation on his mind was getting in the way of him being a hero. It was very hard to concentrate on the new-ish existence of the United Nations and the beginnings of a great deal of tension between him and Ivan.
And so the days went along, same as always. Out of sheer force of habit, Alfred sat next to the low table and took his tea--four sugar cubes and a good portion of milk--every afternoon at four o'clock. The only difference was the lack of company. Lithuania had long been banned from staying at his place by Russia's orders, and with Japan no longer around, the house seemed so very, very empty. In the mornings, America went to the United Nations building to meet with all his allies. Unfortunately, he happened to meet with his new enemies, too. Ivan, and now Wang Yao, were against him, against all the others, with their strange, communist ways. He was glared at as he always was as he met up with Taiwan to enter the Security Council chamber. Somehow, coming here and doing work with the other Nations seemed less rewarding and exciting when he knew that when he returned to his home, he'd have no one to complain to about how mean Ivan was being to him, or to laugh with him with his tales of how Francis would flirt with Arthur and how the green-eyed Nation would stutter angrily and then shout at everyone to stop staring and get back to work.
That was probably when Alfred realized how lonely it was being the hero, because when you were the hero, your enemies would always be out to get you and you could never afford to be close to anyone. Alfred had never had anyone, at least since he was brothers with Arthur. So it was that little taste of companionship with the Eastern Nation that had become like that first long drought of good whiskey to an alcoholic after trying to quit, or that first cigarette in the morning. It was addicting, it was life altering. He needed it, but he was too proud to ask for it. After all, he still didn't deserve the other Nation's sympathy, his friendship. So he would suffer heroically alone.
But did he even still deserve to be called the hero? There had been many times over the years that Alfred had wondered about this. Maybe he was more like Batman than he was Superman. Crazy like Captain America, driven mad because of the Reds.
Yeah, he was that, paranoid and alone.
---
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Rebuilding Japan