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hetalia2010-06-04 01:26 pm
cuterabbit33.livejournal.com) wrote in hetalia2010-06-04 01:26 pm
Entry tags:
first hetalia fanfictions, fear!
Hello everyone! I've been a long-time Hetalia fan, but only recently began writing fanfiction for it. So I hope you enjoy my first attempts.
Title: Pain
Author/Artist: Melissa
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Greece and...?
Rating: G, PG?
Warnings: None.
Summary: 2010.Greece is suffering from economic turmoil, and his people are rioting. He feels he is a failure, but as he grows more and more sick, he may find comfort at last.
It was a hot day, and the sun decided not to show any mercy as it beat down upon the Earth. Hercules laid in the dirt, and occasionally he would stick a hand deep down in the soil, trying to dig out what was cool under the ground, and slap it on his forehead. It could have worked if he was only dealing with the sun's heat, but it was doing nothing for his raging fever, the coughs vibrating throughout his body, and the remains of burns on his hands. When the economy suffers, so does the nation, and Greece was bankrupt. If that hadn't been enough, riots over how the government was trying to fix the problems had wrecked his systems further, and although he had tried to stop them, all he could accomplish was getting himself hurt worse.
After the latest dirt treatment didn't work, he let out a pitiful groan, and opened his eyes. He slowly slid them to a side, catching site of what he had been able to dig up just years before, still poking out of the ground. A strange comfort, the monuments and old art covered in dirt and mud, what some would deem 'junk' but to him were treasures. His mother's treasures.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked upward – to find a figure standing over him, casting a shadow over his face. Taking a few blinks, as dirt flickered off his eyelashes, he struggled to focus his vision on who his visitor was. Alas, vision blurred, and his mind went hazy. Putting strength into his hands, he tried to sit up, and, in the briefest of seconds, he saw her. Impossible, but yes, her. His mother. Couldn't be, but there she was. Eyes widened in disbelief, but, there she was, had to be, and he desperately grabbed for her. Ignoring the startled cry that came out of her, he dragged her down on top of him, and buried his face into her chest.
“Mother.” His voice was horse, cracking. The grip on her was weak, but he refused to let go. He wouldn't lose her again, and his body shook at the very idea. She seemed to struggle for a moment, then quietly gave up, and allowed Hercules to do as he pleased. He could hear her soft breathing, not saying a word, and feel the steady rhythm of her beating heart. He shut his eyes tightly, and could feel them beginning to wet. Shameful, but unavoidable. To have her see him like this... weak, and pathetic. The shame was almost too much to bare.
“I'm sorry.” He made himself speak, even though it was painful. He had to speak, had to make her understand. “I never... meant for this to happen. I just... just wanted them to be happy. Didn't want them.. to worry over taxes.” Deep, shuddering breathes. He had always been so casual when it came to money. Spent as much as his people wanted, if it made them happy. It seemed as if money would never run out, and everyone could relax, could be happy, for eternity. Yet as his mother's reign had once ended, so had the time of economic freedom. Now rules were needed, rules he wasn't used to making. Now no one was happy.
He felt his fingers slide on his clothes, losing their tight hold on her. His fever was spiking, demanding him to fall to unconsciousness. Fighting it as best he could, he pressed his face deeper into her, perhaps for the first time in his life refusing to sleep. She had to hear. “I'm sorry... I just wanted to make you... proud. Didn't want to stop... looking for you. Had to make you see how happy... I made everyone. But... But it's all... ruined...” Hot tears rolled down his face, staining her clothes. How pathetic he must have looked, how she must regret having such a terrible son. “I'm sorry... for disappointing you... Mother... I love you... I just... I just...”
A cough came, loud, hacking, painful. His lungs felt they were on fire, and his body became an earthquake, reluctantly letting her go, and falling to the ground, head throbbing once it landed. What a sight he must have been, covered in dirt and tears. A once proud nation, reduced to this. He wanted to be swallowed up by this self-loathing, have it devour him and leave nothing left, so his mother wouldn't have to look at this creature anymore. Teeth clenched as pain swam through him, and he wouldn't look at her. Wouldn't try to push anymore shame onto her. How could he do this to his sweet, wonderful mother? He lay there, waiting to hear the footsteps of her leaving.
Yet there were no footsteps. No sounds other than his own sobs, and the occasional mew of a cat far off. But there was movement, and the shadow over him left. Fingers ran through his hair,then lifted his head, only to rest it on a much softer place. He could feel cloth and legs... a lap. His head had been placed in her lap. The fingers ran through again, and again, stroking him with the tender touch of love. The other hand was used to brush dirt off of his face, then slowly wipe away his tears. A pause in touch, and then the fingers mixed dirt and tears together, making mud. The fingers drifted across his cheeks, two at a time, reaching his nose. Little mud whiskers.
“It's all right.” Her voice came in an unfamiliar whisper, and she hunched over, her shadow coming over his face again. “You did your best. That's... all anyone can ask for. You will make it. You will rise.” She paused in her petting, and then settled for holding his head close to her. He tried to open his eyes to see her face, but tears blurred his sight. Despite that... could that have been a smile aimed down at him? Eyes full of respect? Pride? Love?
He sucked in a breath, losing the war against more sobs, and turned his face more towards her. He pulled up his body, trying to hug her waist. He breathed into her hips, unable to understand her compassion. But he wouldn't question it, couldn't now, he needed this. He was losing to another fight, as his fever drained strength to try and submit him to sleep. “Mother.” But, please, let him be awake, just a little more, hear just a few more words, let her know, let him know...
“I love you, Hercules.”
Relief flooded, and he surrendered. His breath became slightly more steady, and familiar snoring followed the often quiet cough. His hair continued to be pet, and even though he couldn't have heard him, the same four words were repeated over and over, a mantra that everything would be all right, and Greece would rise again, stronger than before. Perhaps with a little help.
If the reader cares to remember the singular mew from before, they might like to know it was a female, with pale sandy fur, that had been making its way to the couple ever since it had been mentioned. She had come over to be pet as well, yet as she rubbed herself up against one offering free pets, she wouldn't get any of her own. What an odd let-down. Usually Honda Kiku couldn't resist to touch a cat.
Title: Foreign
Author/Artist: Melissa
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Turkey and...?
Rating: G, PG?
Warnings: Swear words.
Summary: August, 1999. Turkey is struck by a massive earthquake. But Mother Nature could have had more in mind, as curses and blessings can go hand in hand.
August 17, 1999.
Around 3 a. m., for all of thirty-seven seconds, a massive earthquake struck northwest Turkey. Half a million people had their homes destroyed. Over forty-thousand people were killed. It also hit many oil refineries, automobile plants, and the official Turkish navy headquarters. Izmit was one of the heaviest hit, but it also hurt as far away as Istanbul. The world looked on in horror, as the Turkish people struggled to recover.
~*~
Almost every part of him was in pain. Whatever wasn't in pain now had gone numb, and there was no doubt the other parts of the body would follow. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to even think. Because any single thought would always lead to what happened to his people, and it was unbearable to imagine this same thing happening to them. They hadn't done anything to deserve this. Mother Nature had no reason to be this cruel.
Mere hours ago, he had been startled out of sleep by a rumbling underneath him. He had jumped out of bed, ignoring the warning signs in his own mind, and fled outside. Buildings were falling, roads were ripped to shreds... everywhere, the sound of death cried out. He had wanted to help, but where to start? Everything was being destroyed at once. Before he could make any sort of decision, his own house began to crumble.
Then, there was just darkness.
He had lost and regained consciousness several times since then. He was crushed under the place he lived in, and he couldn't even tell if the ground was still shaking, as the headache inside was thundering away just as hard. He had long since given up on trying to get out – what limbs that weren't broken couldn't push away the stones on top of him. Now all he could do was wait. Wait for rescue, wait for death... it didn't matter. Whatever came, all he could do now was wait for it.
How pathetic. This proud nation, this great conqueror, reduced to... waiting. He could see Greece's smug face, could hear Japan's sign of disappointment. Maybe it would be best to die, so he wouldn't have to bare their looks. To hell with all of them. He never needed any of them.
But no, no! He could NOT die. What about his people? They needed him. They needed to be able to move on, to gain strength from this and rise up again. There were still Turks alive – had to be!-, and for their sake, he would be there. If he could just get up.
Then, out of nowhere, as he couldn't possibly fathom what time it was or how long it had been, the rocks on him began to move. He sucked in a breath from broken teeth, preparing himself for the second round. Yet as he held his breath, it began to dawn on him that nothing below him was moving. It was only on the top. He went silent, and could then focus on the sounds from above. Heavy breathing, grunts... a person.
Whoever it was, death himself or a sweet savior, they didn't seem to know where he was exactly. Judging from the shifting debris above and the noise... they had to be near his left arm. That arm was still in great pain, and there was no doubt the bones had been snapped like a twig. Clenching his teeth and putting his faith into that arm, he began to force it to move. It hurt, it hurt, it was painful beyond belief – but it moved. Slowly, but surely, it moved upwards.
Hot tears rolled down his dirty cheeks, but still he made it go through the wedges and cracks, needing to get to that person. When fingers no long touched boulder, he assumed they had to be out in the open, in the air. He still moved them, waving, wiggling, trying to get the person's attention. The effort was rewarded when he felt a gentle hand clasp onto his, strong and unwavering. He had been seen. Everything was going to be okay.
The person began to dig out the rest of his body, but never let go of that hand. It was a sign that he wouldn't be left alone, and he was deeply grateful. A few times, he tried to will the rest of his body to move, but then gentle hushes from the rescuer would stop him. This person would take care of it all, the squeezed hand tried to assure him. So once again, all he could do was wait. It was still annoying, but not as much as before.
When his head was freed, he could feel the sun gaze down at him, even through closed eyelids. How strange, given that at one point he thought he might never see it again. The heat it gave off was soothing, but there was no time to relax now. At this time, all of him had been uncovered, and the person now began to delicately scoop him up into their arms. Slightly embarrassing on his part, but he supposed this could be one of those rare occasions to set pride aside. Once he had settled into the person's arms, they began to walk, slow and steady.
He rested his head onto their chest, breathing in deeply. Occasionally a cough would ring out from his dirtied lungs, and the person would stop, letting him catch his breath. Then they would just as easily begin walking again, although for the life of him he didn't know where they were going. It didn't seem to matter now, and he rested his head onto the person's chest. His savior was strong, muscular... yet cradled him like a mother with a newborn. These arms felt safe and secure, and he could think of no place he would rather be.
He took his time breathing, trying to lessen the coughs. As he did, he noticed the smells coming from the person. It took a while, as his nose as been clogged up with dirt, but there was a distinct odor from this person. Familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Since he could do little else, he racked his brain, trying to think of what the smell was, and where he had smelt it before. Then, just as quickly as the earthquake had hit, the familiarity struck.
Catnip.
“Son of a bitch!”
~*~
The first country to aid and lend support was Greece. The Greek Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Greek Ministry of Public Order were in constant contact with Turkey, sending in rescue teams and dispatching planes to send in supplies. The Greek Ministry of Public Order set up plenty of units for which people would donate blood to. Over 80,000 drachmas were donated to the victims and ambassadors. The five largest cities of Greece - Athens, Thessaloniki, Piraeus, Patras, and Herakleion – sent a joint convoy with aide. The Church of Greece created a fundraiser , and there was also aide from the Greek Red Cross, and the Athens' Medicine Association.
All of that was just the briefest of summaries of what Greece did to help Turkey. Turkey was floored by the kindness given, after all the years of hardship and hate between them. Newspaper headlines showed off their gratitude and surprise, such as "Friendship Time","Friendly Hands in Black Days","A Great Support Organization - Five Greek Municipalities say there is no flag or ideology in humanitarian aid". The Mayor of Athens personally came to the earthquake site, where he was greeted by the Mayor of Istanbul. They shook hands, and they knew that it was time for a change. Out of disaster, had come an understanding.
~*~
“This place seems dangerous.” Hercules said, always in his quiet, mellow voice. He felt he had a right to complain, given the scene. Rescuer and rescued, after some time of rest, healing, and natural argument, had began to go all over the land to try and help Sadiq's people. As of now, they were in one of the ruined oil refineries, trying to see if there were any barrels untouched from the fires the earthquake had caused. Hercules had called it a foolish mission, and Sadiq had growled that he was going, with or without him.
“Shut up, ya big brat.” The still injured Turk grumbled, climbing up what was clearly a very weak metal ladder. “It won't even take that long. Ya got any idea how important oil is?” the ladder was connected to a railing, very high up, and once they reached the top, they would be able to see the extent of the damage.
Hercules murmured something rather inaudible, but Sadiq swore it sounded like something that rhymed with crumb-bass. The two continued to mumble insults at one another, making their way to the top, until Hercules felt the need to speak again.
“You really shouldn't be climbing a ladder with a broken arm.”
“Say that before I climb the damn ladder!”
“Would you have not climbed?”
“Screw ya, I still woulda!”
After ignoring a murmur that Sadiq swore it sounded like something that rhymed with hooch-rag, they made it to the very top. However, with Sadiq's arm as it was, he stopped to think of how he was going to stand on the railing. The metal flooring on it was connected to the wall, so maybe he could just slide on his belly, then use the wall to move up. But damn if that wouldn't look humiliating, and in front of Hercules! The last thing he needed was that brat feeling even more sorry for him. So he stayed there on the ladder, trying to think of a way to get up with some pride in tact.
“Why did you stop?” Hercules asked, and tried to lean back, in order to get a better look at his 'frenemy'.
“I'm thinkin'.” Sadiq quipped.
“About what?”
“About none of yer business, that's what.”
“Maybe we should climb down.”
“No way, we just got up here! Just... hold yer horses, will ya?”
Well, if that stupid Greek wouldn't give him time to think, he'd just have to do the belly crawl. With a sigh, he heaved himself upwards, then laid down on the cold, metal floor. Grunting, he put his arm forward, then crawled, kicking his legs until all of him was flat on his stomach. Then he bent his knees, and pushed on his hands, so he could sit up. After all of that effort, his body was throbbing in pain, so for that moment, all he could do was sit and breathe.
“... You okay?” Hercules quietly asked, still on the ladder.
“I'm fine.” A deep breath. “Just fine.”
Silence, then, save for his breathing. Hercules stayed where he was, watching Sadiq intently. He was tempted to join the Turk at the top and help him to his feet, but knew it would be rejected, and more arguments would ensue. So he tried to be patient, waiting in place. The ladder creaked under him, but he paid it no heed. There were more pressing matters to be thought of.
This time, it was Sadiq who broke the silence, still sitting on his worn out knees. “So what now?”
A pause. “It's your oil refinery, wouldn't you know?”
“Not that, ya moron. I mean... us.”
“Oh...”
Sadiq looked down at Hercules, and their eyes met.
Hercules frowned. “I'm still not going to forgive you.”
“Forgive-” The Turk sputtered in disbelief, nearly falling over. “What are ya, nuts?! What have I ever done to ya?!”
“Plenty.”
“Oh please! Ya wouldn' even be here if it weren't fer me!”
“You oppressed me.”
“The hell I did! You were born a spoiled brat and you'll die a spoiled brat!”
“I had to fight you just for independence. Do you think I wanted it to go that far?”
“Ya've always been ungrateful fer what I've done fer ya!”
So the usual bickering went back and forth, bringing up old wars and past wounds. Neither side was willing to admit their faults, defending their own actions with reasons that sometimes bordered on the ridiculous. All that mattered was the victory right then and there. Because of all of that verbal fighting, the noise of the creaky ladder was drowned out. It didn't occur to them that it would soon be unable to support too much weight. Not until the ground shook.
Both voices vanished, shocked by what they felt. The metal in Hercules' hands whined, then began to bend, tearing itself away from the railing. The ladder bent and began to wobble backwards, and the way down was far. As the saying goes, it's not the fall that kills you.
Hercules screamed, and felt himself fall. Sadiq threw himself on the metal floor, reaching out as far as he could, yelling at the top of his dirtied lungs.
“No! Hercules! HERCULES!”
~*~
September 7, 1999.
Around 3 p.m., for all of fifteen seconds, a massive earthquake struck northwest Greece. Over one hundred and forty people were killed, and over two thousand were injured. Cornith and sections of Athens were the hardest hit. The estimated damage was over three billion US dollars, as many structures and important buildings had been damaged beyond repair. It was their most devastating earthquake in twenty years. No one had seen it coming.
~*~
Hercules' scream was cut off as he felt a grasp onto his arm. Staring up, he saw Sadiq holding onto Hercule's right hand, with all of his might, with only his good arm. It was obvious the toll being took on him, as his body shook and sweat rolled off of his face. Yet he still pulled back as hard as he could, repeating two words with each tug.
“Grab on! Grab on! Grab on! GRAB ON!”
“You're still hurt!” Hercules yelled right back, his body dangling in the air. How in the world was Sadiq able to hang onto him? He couldn't fathom yet, and so was hesitant for the help he was being given.
“SHUT UP AND GRAB ON, YA STUPID BRAT!”
No time for arguments now. Despite the pain he knew it would cause, he grabbed onto Sadiq's hand with both of his own. With each passing second that felt like forever, he was lifted up more and more. Once he felt confident enough to try, he lashed out onto the railing, and got a firm grip. Yet Sadiq still did not let go of him. Not until Hercules had done the same as the Turk before, flat on his belly, breathing heavily.
Exhausted, Sadiq fell onto his stomach, right next to Hercules. There wasn't that much room, so part of him was on top of Hercules, but no complaints were made. They merely laid there, breathing, hands held.
~*~
The Turkish aide was the first to arrive. The Greek embassy was flooded with calls to help, from money to blood, more calls than they could handle. A special task force was made, consisting of the Undersecretariat of the Prime Ministry, Turkish Armed Forces, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Ministry of Internal Affairs. Rescue teams came in by over the dozens. All of the Turkish effort could be summed up by one man who called the Ambassador directly, because he wanted to donate his kidney to a “Greek in need”. Every Turk wanted to reciprocate every ounce of kindness they had been given not even a full month before.
~*~
They couldn't tell how long they had laid there, and neither was too eager to move. One, due to the still healing injures on his body, and the other due to not trusting the rest of the place to not collapse if he even moved a finger. But both made the effort to turn their faces in order to look at each other.
Sadiq smiled. “So, now we're even.”
Hercules smiled. “We'll see.”
They both closed their eyes, deciding to rest there a little longer. It was hard to tell who drifted off into sleep first, but they both were asleep soon enough. Their dreams appeared to be peaceful, as neither of them moved, except for their shallow breathing.
They held hands long into the night.
Title: Pain
Author/Artist: Melissa
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Greece and...?
Rating: G, PG?
Warnings: None.
Summary: 2010.Greece is suffering from economic turmoil, and his people are rioting. He feels he is a failure, but as he grows more and more sick, he may find comfort at last.
It was a hot day, and the sun decided not to show any mercy as it beat down upon the Earth. Hercules laid in the dirt, and occasionally he would stick a hand deep down in the soil, trying to dig out what was cool under the ground, and slap it on his forehead. It could have worked if he was only dealing with the sun's heat, but it was doing nothing for his raging fever, the coughs vibrating throughout his body, and the remains of burns on his hands. When the economy suffers, so does the nation, and Greece was bankrupt. If that hadn't been enough, riots over how the government was trying to fix the problems had wrecked his systems further, and although he had tried to stop them, all he could accomplish was getting himself hurt worse.
After the latest dirt treatment didn't work, he let out a pitiful groan, and opened his eyes. He slowly slid them to a side, catching site of what he had been able to dig up just years before, still poking out of the ground. A strange comfort, the monuments and old art covered in dirt and mud, what some would deem 'junk' but to him were treasures. His mother's treasures.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked upward – to find a figure standing over him, casting a shadow over his face. Taking a few blinks, as dirt flickered off his eyelashes, he struggled to focus his vision on who his visitor was. Alas, vision blurred, and his mind went hazy. Putting strength into his hands, he tried to sit up, and, in the briefest of seconds, he saw her. Impossible, but yes, her. His mother. Couldn't be, but there she was. Eyes widened in disbelief, but, there she was, had to be, and he desperately grabbed for her. Ignoring the startled cry that came out of her, he dragged her down on top of him, and buried his face into her chest.
“Mother.” His voice was horse, cracking. The grip on her was weak, but he refused to let go. He wouldn't lose her again, and his body shook at the very idea. She seemed to struggle for a moment, then quietly gave up, and allowed Hercules to do as he pleased. He could hear her soft breathing, not saying a word, and feel the steady rhythm of her beating heart. He shut his eyes tightly, and could feel them beginning to wet. Shameful, but unavoidable. To have her see him like this... weak, and pathetic. The shame was almost too much to bare.
“I'm sorry.” He made himself speak, even though it was painful. He had to speak, had to make her understand. “I never... meant for this to happen. I just... just wanted them to be happy. Didn't want them.. to worry over taxes.” Deep, shuddering breathes. He had always been so casual when it came to money. Spent as much as his people wanted, if it made them happy. It seemed as if money would never run out, and everyone could relax, could be happy, for eternity. Yet as his mother's reign had once ended, so had the time of economic freedom. Now rules were needed, rules he wasn't used to making. Now no one was happy.
He felt his fingers slide on his clothes, losing their tight hold on her. His fever was spiking, demanding him to fall to unconsciousness. Fighting it as best he could, he pressed his face deeper into her, perhaps for the first time in his life refusing to sleep. She had to hear. “I'm sorry... I just wanted to make you... proud. Didn't want to stop... looking for you. Had to make you see how happy... I made everyone. But... But it's all... ruined...” Hot tears rolled down his face, staining her clothes. How pathetic he must have looked, how she must regret having such a terrible son. “I'm sorry... for disappointing you... Mother... I love you... I just... I just...”
A cough came, loud, hacking, painful. His lungs felt they were on fire, and his body became an earthquake, reluctantly letting her go, and falling to the ground, head throbbing once it landed. What a sight he must have been, covered in dirt and tears. A once proud nation, reduced to this. He wanted to be swallowed up by this self-loathing, have it devour him and leave nothing left, so his mother wouldn't have to look at this creature anymore. Teeth clenched as pain swam through him, and he wouldn't look at her. Wouldn't try to push anymore shame onto her. How could he do this to his sweet, wonderful mother? He lay there, waiting to hear the footsteps of her leaving.
Yet there were no footsteps. No sounds other than his own sobs, and the occasional mew of a cat far off. But there was movement, and the shadow over him left. Fingers ran through his hair,then lifted his head, only to rest it on a much softer place. He could feel cloth and legs... a lap. His head had been placed in her lap. The fingers ran through again, and again, stroking him with the tender touch of love. The other hand was used to brush dirt off of his face, then slowly wipe away his tears. A pause in touch, and then the fingers mixed dirt and tears together, making mud. The fingers drifted across his cheeks, two at a time, reaching his nose. Little mud whiskers.
“It's all right.” Her voice came in an unfamiliar whisper, and she hunched over, her shadow coming over his face again. “You did your best. That's... all anyone can ask for. You will make it. You will rise.” She paused in her petting, and then settled for holding his head close to her. He tried to open his eyes to see her face, but tears blurred his sight. Despite that... could that have been a smile aimed down at him? Eyes full of respect? Pride? Love?
He sucked in a breath, losing the war against more sobs, and turned his face more towards her. He pulled up his body, trying to hug her waist. He breathed into her hips, unable to understand her compassion. But he wouldn't question it, couldn't now, he needed this. He was losing to another fight, as his fever drained strength to try and submit him to sleep. “Mother.” But, please, let him be awake, just a little more, hear just a few more words, let her know, let him know...
“I love you, Hercules.”
Relief flooded, and he surrendered. His breath became slightly more steady, and familiar snoring followed the often quiet cough. His hair continued to be pet, and even though he couldn't have heard him, the same four words were repeated over and over, a mantra that everything would be all right, and Greece would rise again, stronger than before. Perhaps with a little help.
If the reader cares to remember the singular mew from before, they might like to know it was a female, with pale sandy fur, that had been making its way to the couple ever since it had been mentioned. She had come over to be pet as well, yet as she rubbed herself up against one offering free pets, she wouldn't get any of her own. What an odd let-down. Usually Honda Kiku couldn't resist to touch a cat.
Title: Foreign
Author/Artist: Melissa
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Turkey and...?
Rating: G, PG?
Warnings: Swear words.
Summary: August, 1999. Turkey is struck by a massive earthquake. But Mother Nature could have had more in mind, as curses and blessings can go hand in hand.
August 17, 1999.
Around 3 a. m., for all of thirty-seven seconds, a massive earthquake struck northwest Turkey. Half a million people had their homes destroyed. Over forty-thousand people were killed. It also hit many oil refineries, automobile plants, and the official Turkish navy headquarters. Izmit was one of the heaviest hit, but it also hurt as far away as Istanbul. The world looked on in horror, as the Turkish people struggled to recover.
~*~
Almost every part of him was in pain. Whatever wasn't in pain now had gone numb, and there was no doubt the other parts of the body would follow. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to even think. Because any single thought would always lead to what happened to his people, and it was unbearable to imagine this same thing happening to them. They hadn't done anything to deserve this. Mother Nature had no reason to be this cruel.
Mere hours ago, he had been startled out of sleep by a rumbling underneath him. He had jumped out of bed, ignoring the warning signs in his own mind, and fled outside. Buildings were falling, roads were ripped to shreds... everywhere, the sound of death cried out. He had wanted to help, but where to start? Everything was being destroyed at once. Before he could make any sort of decision, his own house began to crumble.
Then, there was just darkness.
He had lost and regained consciousness several times since then. He was crushed under the place he lived in, and he couldn't even tell if the ground was still shaking, as the headache inside was thundering away just as hard. He had long since given up on trying to get out – what limbs that weren't broken couldn't push away the stones on top of him. Now all he could do was wait. Wait for rescue, wait for death... it didn't matter. Whatever came, all he could do now was wait for it.
How pathetic. This proud nation, this great conqueror, reduced to... waiting. He could see Greece's smug face, could hear Japan's sign of disappointment. Maybe it would be best to die, so he wouldn't have to bare their looks. To hell with all of them. He never needed any of them.
But no, no! He could NOT die. What about his people? They needed him. They needed to be able to move on, to gain strength from this and rise up again. There were still Turks alive – had to be!-, and for their sake, he would be there. If he could just get up.
Then, out of nowhere, as he couldn't possibly fathom what time it was or how long it had been, the rocks on him began to move. He sucked in a breath from broken teeth, preparing himself for the second round. Yet as he held his breath, it began to dawn on him that nothing below him was moving. It was only on the top. He went silent, and could then focus on the sounds from above. Heavy breathing, grunts... a person.
Whoever it was, death himself or a sweet savior, they didn't seem to know where he was exactly. Judging from the shifting debris above and the noise... they had to be near his left arm. That arm was still in great pain, and there was no doubt the bones had been snapped like a twig. Clenching his teeth and putting his faith into that arm, he began to force it to move. It hurt, it hurt, it was painful beyond belief – but it moved. Slowly, but surely, it moved upwards.
Hot tears rolled down his dirty cheeks, but still he made it go through the wedges and cracks, needing to get to that person. When fingers no long touched boulder, he assumed they had to be out in the open, in the air. He still moved them, waving, wiggling, trying to get the person's attention. The effort was rewarded when he felt a gentle hand clasp onto his, strong and unwavering. He had been seen. Everything was going to be okay.
The person began to dig out the rest of his body, but never let go of that hand. It was a sign that he wouldn't be left alone, and he was deeply grateful. A few times, he tried to will the rest of his body to move, but then gentle hushes from the rescuer would stop him. This person would take care of it all, the squeezed hand tried to assure him. So once again, all he could do was wait. It was still annoying, but not as much as before.
When his head was freed, he could feel the sun gaze down at him, even through closed eyelids. How strange, given that at one point he thought he might never see it again. The heat it gave off was soothing, but there was no time to relax now. At this time, all of him had been uncovered, and the person now began to delicately scoop him up into their arms. Slightly embarrassing on his part, but he supposed this could be one of those rare occasions to set pride aside. Once he had settled into the person's arms, they began to walk, slow and steady.
He rested his head onto their chest, breathing in deeply. Occasionally a cough would ring out from his dirtied lungs, and the person would stop, letting him catch his breath. Then they would just as easily begin walking again, although for the life of him he didn't know where they were going. It didn't seem to matter now, and he rested his head onto the person's chest. His savior was strong, muscular... yet cradled him like a mother with a newborn. These arms felt safe and secure, and he could think of no place he would rather be.
He took his time breathing, trying to lessen the coughs. As he did, he noticed the smells coming from the person. It took a while, as his nose as been clogged up with dirt, but there was a distinct odor from this person. Familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Since he could do little else, he racked his brain, trying to think of what the smell was, and where he had smelt it before. Then, just as quickly as the earthquake had hit, the familiarity struck.
Catnip.
“Son of a bitch!”
~*~
The first country to aid and lend support was Greece. The Greek Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Greek Ministry of Public Order were in constant contact with Turkey, sending in rescue teams and dispatching planes to send in supplies. The Greek Ministry of Public Order set up plenty of units for which people would donate blood to. Over 80,000 drachmas were donated to the victims and ambassadors. The five largest cities of Greece - Athens, Thessaloniki, Piraeus, Patras, and Herakleion – sent a joint convoy with aide. The Church of Greece created a fundraiser , and there was also aide from the Greek Red Cross, and the Athens' Medicine Association.
All of that was just the briefest of summaries of what Greece did to help Turkey. Turkey was floored by the kindness given, after all the years of hardship and hate between them. Newspaper headlines showed off their gratitude and surprise, such as "Friendship Time","Friendly Hands in Black Days","A Great Support Organization - Five Greek Municipalities say there is no flag or ideology in humanitarian aid". The Mayor of Athens personally came to the earthquake site, where he was greeted by the Mayor of Istanbul. They shook hands, and they knew that it was time for a change. Out of disaster, had come an understanding.
~*~
“This place seems dangerous.” Hercules said, always in his quiet, mellow voice. He felt he had a right to complain, given the scene. Rescuer and rescued, after some time of rest, healing, and natural argument, had began to go all over the land to try and help Sadiq's people. As of now, they were in one of the ruined oil refineries, trying to see if there were any barrels untouched from the fires the earthquake had caused. Hercules had called it a foolish mission, and Sadiq had growled that he was going, with or without him.
“Shut up, ya big brat.” The still injured Turk grumbled, climbing up what was clearly a very weak metal ladder. “It won't even take that long. Ya got any idea how important oil is?” the ladder was connected to a railing, very high up, and once they reached the top, they would be able to see the extent of the damage.
Hercules murmured something rather inaudible, but Sadiq swore it sounded like something that rhymed with crumb-bass. The two continued to mumble insults at one another, making their way to the top, until Hercules felt the need to speak again.
“You really shouldn't be climbing a ladder with a broken arm.”
“Say that before I climb the damn ladder!”
“Would you have not climbed?”
“Screw ya, I still woulda!”
After ignoring a murmur that Sadiq swore it sounded like something that rhymed with hooch-rag, they made it to the very top. However, with Sadiq's arm as it was, he stopped to think of how he was going to stand on the railing. The metal flooring on it was connected to the wall, so maybe he could just slide on his belly, then use the wall to move up. But damn if that wouldn't look humiliating, and in front of Hercules! The last thing he needed was that brat feeling even more sorry for him. So he stayed there on the ladder, trying to think of a way to get up with some pride in tact.
“Why did you stop?” Hercules asked, and tried to lean back, in order to get a better look at his 'frenemy'.
“I'm thinkin'.” Sadiq quipped.
“About what?”
“About none of yer business, that's what.”
“Maybe we should climb down.”
“No way, we just got up here! Just... hold yer horses, will ya?”
Well, if that stupid Greek wouldn't give him time to think, he'd just have to do the belly crawl. With a sigh, he heaved himself upwards, then laid down on the cold, metal floor. Grunting, he put his arm forward, then crawled, kicking his legs until all of him was flat on his stomach. Then he bent his knees, and pushed on his hands, so he could sit up. After all of that effort, his body was throbbing in pain, so for that moment, all he could do was sit and breathe.
“... You okay?” Hercules quietly asked, still on the ladder.
“I'm fine.” A deep breath. “Just fine.”
Silence, then, save for his breathing. Hercules stayed where he was, watching Sadiq intently. He was tempted to join the Turk at the top and help him to his feet, but knew it would be rejected, and more arguments would ensue. So he tried to be patient, waiting in place. The ladder creaked under him, but he paid it no heed. There were more pressing matters to be thought of.
This time, it was Sadiq who broke the silence, still sitting on his worn out knees. “So what now?”
A pause. “It's your oil refinery, wouldn't you know?”
“Not that, ya moron. I mean... us.”
“Oh...”
Sadiq looked down at Hercules, and their eyes met.
Hercules frowned. “I'm still not going to forgive you.”
“Forgive-” The Turk sputtered in disbelief, nearly falling over. “What are ya, nuts?! What have I ever done to ya?!”
“Plenty.”
“Oh please! Ya wouldn' even be here if it weren't fer me!”
“You oppressed me.”
“The hell I did! You were born a spoiled brat and you'll die a spoiled brat!”
“I had to fight you just for independence. Do you think I wanted it to go that far?”
“Ya've always been ungrateful fer what I've done fer ya!”
So the usual bickering went back and forth, bringing up old wars and past wounds. Neither side was willing to admit their faults, defending their own actions with reasons that sometimes bordered on the ridiculous. All that mattered was the victory right then and there. Because of all of that verbal fighting, the noise of the creaky ladder was drowned out. It didn't occur to them that it would soon be unable to support too much weight. Not until the ground shook.
Both voices vanished, shocked by what they felt. The metal in Hercules' hands whined, then began to bend, tearing itself away from the railing. The ladder bent and began to wobble backwards, and the way down was far. As the saying goes, it's not the fall that kills you.
Hercules screamed, and felt himself fall. Sadiq threw himself on the metal floor, reaching out as far as he could, yelling at the top of his dirtied lungs.
“No! Hercules! HERCULES!”
~*~
September 7, 1999.
Around 3 p.m., for all of fifteen seconds, a massive earthquake struck northwest Greece. Over one hundred and forty people were killed, and over two thousand were injured. Cornith and sections of Athens were the hardest hit. The estimated damage was over three billion US dollars, as many structures and important buildings had been damaged beyond repair. It was their most devastating earthquake in twenty years. No one had seen it coming.
~*~
Hercules' scream was cut off as he felt a grasp onto his arm. Staring up, he saw Sadiq holding onto Hercule's right hand, with all of his might, with only his good arm. It was obvious the toll being took on him, as his body shook and sweat rolled off of his face. Yet he still pulled back as hard as he could, repeating two words with each tug.
“Grab on! Grab on! Grab on! GRAB ON!”
“You're still hurt!” Hercules yelled right back, his body dangling in the air. How in the world was Sadiq able to hang onto him? He couldn't fathom yet, and so was hesitant for the help he was being given.
“SHUT UP AND GRAB ON, YA STUPID BRAT!”
No time for arguments now. Despite the pain he knew it would cause, he grabbed onto Sadiq's hand with both of his own. With each passing second that felt like forever, he was lifted up more and more. Once he felt confident enough to try, he lashed out onto the railing, and got a firm grip. Yet Sadiq still did not let go of him. Not until Hercules had done the same as the Turk before, flat on his belly, breathing heavily.
Exhausted, Sadiq fell onto his stomach, right next to Hercules. There wasn't that much room, so part of him was on top of Hercules, but no complaints were made. They merely laid there, breathing, hands held.
~*~
The Turkish aide was the first to arrive. The Greek embassy was flooded with calls to help, from money to blood, more calls than they could handle. A special task force was made, consisting of the Undersecretariat of the Prime Ministry, Turkish Armed Forces, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Ministry of Internal Affairs. Rescue teams came in by over the dozens. All of the Turkish effort could be summed up by one man who called the Ambassador directly, because he wanted to donate his kidney to a “Greek in need”. Every Turk wanted to reciprocate every ounce of kindness they had been given not even a full month before.
~*~
They couldn't tell how long they had laid there, and neither was too eager to move. One, due to the still healing injures on his body, and the other due to not trusting the rest of the place to not collapse if he even moved a finger. But both made the effort to turn their faces in order to look at each other.
Sadiq smiled. “So, now we're even.”
Hercules smiled. “We'll see.”
They both closed their eyes, deciding to rest there a little longer. It was hard to tell who drifted off into sleep first, but they both were asleep soon enough. Their dreams appeared to be peaceful, as neither of them moved, except for their shallow breathing.
They held hands long into the night.
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Although the subjects are rather sad... (I guess not as sad as some of the stuff I've come up with though XD)
Great stories, hon. :D
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I WROTE THE FIRST ONE FOR THIS AWESOME LADY RIGHT HERE
HELL YEAH
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