Can You Hear the LietBel Sing?

This is my LietBel Hetalia fanfic.


1. This Is My Whole Story

Can You Hear the LeitBel Sing?


A Hetalia HeadCannon by: Lillian J. Hughes




                It wasn’t supposed to end this way. The flowers in the garbage attracting fruit flies were meant to attract his heart. But nothing about this life makes sense. Constantly yearning, how can I deny what my body screams for? Yet my mind, though weak and slipping away, puts the foot down there. I release a pent up breath, glad to be sane if only for a moment. It’s just, no one understands, and no one, especially myself, ever will.

                All of the doctors and scientists gathered in the room, doing what they could, but nothing could stop the purple glow surrounding the new baby country. Her siblings stared in fear, knowing of the old legend in Russia’s culture, the story of how a newborn baby every 200 years will bear the sins of the people of Russia and become a monster in some form or fashion. Russia knew. He had watched before how a boy was born with gruesome horns and a tail, a girl cursed with eyes that caused someone to die every time she blinked. She committed suicide as soon as she understood her power. Even a pair of conjoined twins were born with the power to hear screams of pain in their heads every time a child cried out in fear. They didn't last long. Because of this, Russia was ready to take full responsibility for this next child, especially since she was not only a country like him, but HIS SISTER. When the newborn girl opened her eyes for the first time, Russia filled her vision and Belarus succumbed to her curse: to become completely obsessed with the person hovering above her.

                I walked into the room after a good game of rugby with the guys, my every being numb with cold and fun. I see her sitting by the fireplace, starring into its sparking unpredictable pattern. My boots scuffle the floor and she whips her head around. Oh no, the ‘she devil’ is looking at me with those empty eyes. Rarely is my younger sister truly herself, and besides the real Belarus would want to spend all the time she has away from me. The ‘she devil’ crosses the room in three easy steps. I try to turn from her as she blows lightly over my ear, her arms pinning me to the wall. Okay, I can take this…. I must… I…… and she nibbles my ear. I can’t help it, I push her away and run up the stairs to the closest room with a lock: Ukraine’s bedroom. As my older sister cradles me, Belarus emits an inhuman growl and tries to break down the door. I know that being with Ukraine is only making matters worse, but I can’t help thinking, ‘How could things go more wrong than they are now?’ After a few hours Belarus starts to calm down, but I stay in my older sister’s bedroom for another half-hour just to be safe. The ‘she devil’ is crafty and has tricked me on many occasions. The sound of a body being thrown full blast against the door makes me decide to stay in Ukraine’s room that night.

                The docile-yet-still-attached me is out and about, clinging to Russia’s arm as we walk to school. Seriously, I’m thirteen and I am acting like a five year old. But I cannot control my limbs as we march across the snow covered fields. No matter what state of mind, I’ve always loved the satisfying crunch the ever-present snow makes beneath my thick-soled boots. I want to tell Russia this but only a grunt comes out instead. “Hey pig!” yells a fourteen year old boy, Avreal, one of my school bullies. I ignore him, but he comes closer to us, making grunting noises. “Is it true that you dream of nothing but kisses pig?” By now a small crowd has gathered and I try my hardest to push through my snickering classmates. But Avreal blocks the school’s front doors, his posse of pathetic young pubescents there to back him up. They may be pathetic, but they outnumber my lover, no b.r.o.t.h.e.r. (spelling in my mind helps me gain more control) and I four to one. “But no one could ever love a horn-doging pig like you.” At this Russia snaps, throwing a right hook at Avreal and knocking him against the building. My brother quickly gets pinned down by the others though, and now they all have murderous looks on their faces. For once, my two personalities co-exist to take down all eight boys. I help my sibling up from the snow as the bullies roll around in it. The school bell rings and we dash to our desks.

                The middle school dance is coming up, and I’ve been avoiding Belarus as much as possible. I just don’t think I’m ready to face her like the man I’m not. If I don’t ask her, will she break my arms or just drag me there? I’m meeting up with my friends today, so I turn to grab the rugby ball and I see Belarus, toy in hand. She stands stock-still and glares at me with everything she’s got. I can’t escape her stare. I see a purple glow forming around her, and the last time that happened a movie house burned down. With no other choice I ask her out to the upcoming dance. The glow fades and she pulls me into a hug. Not an evil one, but soft and gentle. She says that her demon side has disappeared but fears it will come out again if I don’t take her to the dance. Handing me the ball she flees to her room. I wish so badly that the moments this Belarus shares with me would last longer, but I can’t ask that of her. I take a deep breath and think back to when my little sister was born. She was so tiny, with no sign of deformities. But the memory of that sinister glow surrounding her newborn body; that always gives me the strength to keep my oath I made that day in the emergency room.

                We enter the one-room school building, my outward face aglow with pleasure while the inside me is fuming with embarrassment. I hear some catcalls and see if Russia is embarrassed too. His expression is neutral, slightly cheerful even as he leads me to the center of the room. The desks had all been pushed to the walls to make a space for dancing, and the soundtrack starts. I was worried that my dark side would take full control at the first beat, but surprisingly I feel normal for the rest of the night. I don’t dance with anyone but Russia of course. Near the end of the party we are moving to the beat of the music, and Russia says that he wishes we could do this more often, not as a couple but as siblings. I smile at this, until he says “because Ukraine and I dance like this all the time and it’s really fun.” That’s when the demon takes full control and I let loose a blood-chilling scream. Everyone stares as I push my brother away and crash through the school’s front doors. Full of jealousy and hate I run to where I had seen those tigerlilys, their vibrant orange color so beautiful against the white ground. We had passed by them on the way to the school, and I had sincerely wanted to give them to Russia as a thank you gift; for swallowing his pride and taking me as his date to the dance, for putting up with my dark side. Now I just yank them out of the thin soil and chuck them into the closest garbage bin I could find. That’s why I’m crying my eyes out and leaning against the outside back wall of the town’s local pub, Smokey’s. How can I be so horrible to him? Yet as I think this I see the beaten flowers and the demon comes back to make me throw a horrific tantrum.

                I find her breathing hard, face red and fists bruised. I guess from the amount of damage she has been punching the pub’s metal garbage bin for a while, the dent in its side unbelievably ginormous. When she notices me, the young girl lunges at me, chocking me with her bare hands. Before long she lets go, completely exhausted. Her knees buckle and I catch her slender frame just in time. I’m sitting in the employee break room with the girl’s head in my lap. From what I can tell she’s around 14. In her sleep her face is so relaxed, the opposite of what I saw earlier. Thinking of those eyes, full of sinister hatred, still makes me shiver. I check her left hand for a pulse, griping her arm tight. At this moment her eyelids flutter open, deep pools of indigo reflecting my own worried face. Immediately she jerks away from me and falls to the ground. I leap off the bench and try to help her up, but the look she’s giving me makes me think otherwise. I wonder if I can help her and she appears confused when I tell her this. No, she says, and she wants to get home as fast as possible. That’s why I’m now walking down Odeyalo Street with the girl. Every time I try to walk closer to her, she moves farther away. When we reach her unlit house, she sits on the porch. I stand a few feet apart from her and gaze at the snow, that ever present snow. Since my move here to Russia, I’ve found it hard to adjust. My job at Smokey’s pub was a stroke of pure luck, since I had turned the legal age of 21 the day before. But with my dream, can I truly ever reach it by working in a bar? I try to think of something to say and end up with the question my grandmother loved to ask me: when the snow melts, what does it become? At first I don’t think she’ll talk, but she answers with “water, I guess.” “Ah,” I reply, “I always think it turns into Spring.” At this she stares at me with those depths of indigo, the same shade as the last hues of color you see in the sky before the blackness of night sets in. I now see a young man walking down the street, sadness embedded in his every movement. When the girl sees him, she jumps up with a squeal and sprints to hug him. Her hug turns into a tackle. Happiness fully engraved in their faces, they approach me. I start to say something but the young man just holds up his hand, thanks me for bringing his sister home, and asks my name. “Lithuania,” I tell them, glancing at the girl. Her eyes are only for her brother though, and after another round of thank you’s they enter their home. I stand there, contemplating this entire night. After a few minutes I turn towards my apartment and start walking.

                Russia is so sweet to me. He not only booked a vacation to France for my sixteenth birthday, but he snagged us tickets to hear music played by THE Austria. I still can’t believe we’re walking down the streets of Paris, hand in hand. It kinda sucks that my demon-side has taken over my body for this entire trip, but at least its actions have been really toned down, gentle even. Wearing a brand-new French dress we enter the Palais Garnier (Paris Opera House), and my breath is taken away by the astoundingly beautiful, no, exquisite architecture. My beloved guides me up the golden embroidered staircase and to our seats. We make comments about the theatre until the show begins, my body leaning on his the entire time. The blood-red velvet curtains slide open ever-so slowly. I sit on the edge of my seat awaiting the first act. And I see him. It’s been three years and yet I can tell it’s him, the man who brought me home after I fell utterly under control of my inner demon. I may not have many memories devoid of Russia, but how can I forget his chestnut-brown hair, quirky smile, and peridot green eyes. Than he starts to sing. It’s like pencil in my mind just snaps in two. Instantly I have control over my body, the REAL me with TOTAL control. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced this, and it feels so amazing to be completely free, devoid of any dark thoughts or desires. And his voice, oh his voice! Heavenly sweet, rich as milk and if it had a color, it would be melted bronze. It’s a tribute to the most famous French play in history: Les Miserables. Empty Chairs at Empty Tables rings over the full-house, filling the air with bittersweet sorrow and lovely melancholy. I can’t understand a word of it for it’s in French, but the meaning is still conveyed with such emotion, it is unbelievably stunning. (Hold Control and Click)


When the song ends I hang onto the last note, gasping for breath and hearing nothing but silence. I worry that must be a sign of my dream coming to an end, right here on this prestigious stage. I’ve wanted for this for so long, worked so hard, and now nothing can change the fact that I am an incompetent singer. But then an explosion of sound blasts me unbalanced, and I look to see everyone on their feet, applauding me, cheering and praising me, their faces beaming with honest joy. I can hardly believe it! I take a bow and the sound amplifies to a new level. The curtains close and I let go a pent up breath; I had finally sung on stage. A grand piano rolls into place towards the center of the platform and I see him: the world renowned pianist Austria. He sure looks impressive, with his dark blue coat, white scarf, and styled hair. I stand in awe. With a wink he tells me that with more practice, I could become a star. “Not just anyone,” he says, “can get an audience to respond like that.” I’m ushered from the stage as Austria takes his seat. The velvet slides across the wood once again and the crowd explodes with opening applause.

I try to push through the crowd, but it’s a struggle for every advancing step. At last I see him, surrounded by adoring fans. Apparently, the great Austria escaped the theater through a back door before the audience could corner him; leaving Lithuania to adhere to the people instead. I’m still feeling buzzed from Austria’s performance on those black and white keys, better sounding to my ears than tasting any northern vodka on my tongue. My brother still loves vodka more, but he agrees that the music was exhilarating. I approach the man of my past, having no idea what to say. He is speaking to four beautiful French mademoiselles, and whatever he says sends them into cute titters and blushes. When he notices me, he smiles and launches into rapid French. I appear confused and say that I don’t understand. He smiles and immediately switches to Russian. This agitates the other girls and with flustered looks on their pinched faces, they leave. “Oh little девица-красавица (young girl of beauty), how you have grown!” He kisses me on both cheeks, making me flinch. I step back at his enthusiasm; I’m not the only one who’s changed. He admires my green and white striped dress, the light blue lace fringes accenting the sky blue bow in my hair. Reaching for my hand. Eyes focused on my hips. I can’t take it anymore. Is this how Russia feels every time I make him uncomfortable? I sprint from him and to the gardens outside. “No, wait!” he yells, and follows me. He finds me sitting on a stone bench beside hedges of pink roses. My face is flushed and my inner demon is going berserk trying to come out and murder Lithuania. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I was so used to French culture and didn’t pay attention to your feelings. For that I truly apologize.” I want to yell back at him that I DO NOT excuse his behavior, yet I can’t get a word out with him staring at me. I flee from his gaze and try to run away again, but he catches my arm and grips it tightly. “Please, hear me out….,” then he says with a laugh, “I don’t even know your name!” “Belarus,” I reply without thinking. “Belarus.” Him just whispering my name makes it sound so different, as if it were a precious jewel to him. Which is ridiculous, since we’ve met only once before and have spent less than an hour together; why am I still here? I need to leave with Russia soon, yes, Russia is the one I should be focusing on and not this man griping my arm. Actually, I realize his grip by now had loosened and I could have pulled away at any time. “Please, won’t you let me get to know you?” His eyes are so pitifully sweet, just like the eyes of my brother’s dogs when they are pleading for more attention. I can only mutter a yes. Delight etched in his every movement, he brings me to the front of the opera house, to my frantic brother. Lithuania takes care of the explanations for me and whispers in my ear the location and time of our next meeting.

She’s done nothing but pace since the show, showing a distressed face I have never seen on her before. I want to ask what’s wrong, but I don’t need to upset the delicate balance of the ‘she-devil.’ Two hours later she leaves to eat dinner on her own, claiming that breathing the night air in solitude will settle her nerves. Before this trip we studied every nook and cranny of Paris; for the soul reason of being able to locate my sister if she ran away from me in a ‘she-devil’ rampage. I trust her though, and maybe I’m selfish but I just feel so relieved when not being constantly on my guard. This evening I can finally relax for the first time on this vacation. I tell her to be back before 9:00 pm and she hugs me, truly and full of sibling love. An hour later I still feel the wonderful effects of that hug.

I approach the café with caution, and giving me a queer expression the hostess leads me to my table. Not wanting to draw extra attention, I’ve dressed in mediocre attire, and I see he has too. Actually, our clothes are a far cry from what we were wearing at the opera. I have to give a small laugh at this thought, and for the rest of the evening Lithuania tries to get me to tell him what was so funny. Avoiding his queries for three hours straight was so much fun, and through the conversations over coffee and donuts I learn that Lithuania is twenty-four, a Leo, and even has asthma problems. “Even with my influence of being a country, my asthma has been a huge wall that I had to break down in order to achieve my dream,” he states with a saddened yet handsome look. Upon hearing that I am only sixteen, his mouth drops open. He’s speechless and when he can talk again he mutters things like “oh, yeah she was only thirteen then, so we’re eight years apart” and “she’s so young, and yet mature.” All of this sounds like he’s trying to make an important decision, and I don’t want him to make up his mind yet. I interrupt his thoughts by asking if we can meet again, for a walk tomorrow. He smiles and agrees to pick me up around nine. Russia gives me a quizzical look as I waltz into the hotel room and say that I’m going sight-seeing tomorrow without him. But he doesn’t protest, seeing that I’m safe, happy, and most of all SANE. I take a trolley to the Bois de Boulogne parks and gardens early the next morning, with Lithuania as my dashing escort. The expansive grounds and random fountains inspire beauty in all forms, both manmade and natural. It starts to rain so we both take refuge under a monstrous weeping willow, still a gentle shade of green awaiting to be frozen into white icicles in the winter. As we stand waiting, his gaze settles on me. One moment he’s five feet away, the next he has one hand over my waist, the other cupping my face. Pulling us closer, he whispers my name in the form of a question. I take a deep breath, fighting with all my power to silence the demon inside of me. Every part of this is wrong, feels so insanely WRONG, and I’m enjoying every bit of it. I nod my head and he puts his lips on mine. I realize then that this is my first kiss. Sure there were plenty of times I’ve wanted to kiss Russia out of lust, but he never let me cross that line. I’m so thankful he did that, because I don’t think I’ll ever experience this type of kiss with anyone but Lithuania. Even though my clothes are heavy with the humidity that came with the rain, my body feels lighter than air. If Lithuania didn’t hold me down, I might just drift into the sky. This is such a freeing moment, and I don’t ever want it to stop. My inner demon is silent, not even there, just like the time in the opera house. Just when I thought that I would explode containing so much happiness, we break apart. His peridot eyes reflect my blissful expression. For the next hour we say nothing, just sitting under the tree and enjoying each other’s presence while the rain slowly let up. That’s when Lithuania led me away from the tranquil park and back to the blaring streets of the city. We arranged another meeting at a restaurant for tomorrow’s lunch, and then he was gone on the next bus to his house. For a year he’s been living here working towards his dream, and now that he has achieved it he wants to pursue a life of traveling and singing, learning more about the world and different cultures to become a better country for his people. I have to admire his diligent and caring spirit. All my life I’ve been so selfish, caring only about myself and not my people. The more I learn about Lithuania the more I see what a great man he is.

She’s been leaving to go somewhere by herself every day this week, and I’m worried. When I ask her about it, she just says that it’s a surprise. Although she is increasingly glad every time she comes back, her inner ‘she-devil’ is having the worse bout of mood swings I’ve ever seen. I dare not talk to her beyond necessary in order to not set the darkness off.  Then one night at eleven O’clock I see her walking up to the hotel, laughing and leaning heavily on a man I don’t recognize. I sprint down to the lobby to meet them. There she stands with her arm linked to… Lithuania. They immediately stop laughing as I approach, sharing apprehensive glances. “Belarus Natalya Arlovskaya what are you doing with this man so late at night?” She knows it’s serious when I use her full name. “Brother,” she starts but I don’t let her get farther than that. “You of all people should know that with your personality, you shouldn’t be doing this with someone else than me.” An agitated air fills the room as Lithuania steps forward. “Belarus can make her own choices about who she spends time with, and you being an overprotective brother is only weighing her down.” I stare at him in annoyance. “You don’t understand the situation.” I retort, “What you are doing is dangerous.” “I really don’t think it’s as bad as you-‘“STOP IT!” We both look at Belarus, who had just shouted at us. She’s holding her head and appears to be in immense pain. “Why can’t I ever know what is wrong with you?” Lithuania whispers in a caring tone. “Because,” she says, “it is a part of me that I was born with and cannot change. I am the only human in the world who has ever had this, and how can you just tell someone ‘Hello, I’m constantly being possessed by an inner demon who makes me want to marry my OLDER BROTHER!’” Each word spoken rises in volume until she is screaming. I take a quick glance around the lobby and to my relief it’s empty. Now something weighs heavy on my heart, a secret I had never told my sister. I realize now is the time to let her know. “Belarus, I need to share something I haven’t ever told you before.” They both look at me in confusion. That’s when I begin the story of my sister, starting with the day she was born. As I explain about her personality actually being an ancient curse, her face becomes more and more tense until she flees from me, screaming ‘How could you lie to me like that for all these years!?!’ I stare in pain, though I’m not shocked. I’ve always dreaded the day when I would tell her that the reason she is who she is, is because of me. But then Lithuania stares at me with a furious expression yelling, “You IDIOT! Don’t you know that a curse can be broken?!?” And then he runs after her, shoes squeaking on the polished floor.

I’m sitting on a stone bench in a park, yet again surrounded by roses (red this time). I have never felt so much agony, my two personas battling it out inside of me. I hear footsteps and turn to see an out-of-breath Lithuania take in my torn and wrinkled, tear-stained clothes. “You should just do what you truly want. Don’t let your brother or me dictate how you should feel.” These words shock me out of my comma. He kneels in front of me, our faces inches apart. “Just know this,” he continues, “whatever you decide I will NEVER stop loving you. I will constantly miss you for the rest of my life, feel broken without you. And that’s okay, because it was worth it to meet you and fall in love.” Right then Russia enters the garden, and I make up my mind. I love Lithuania. “I love Lithuania.” I say this so softly that the two most influential people in my life both say, “What?” In a whisper I repeat my rebellious phrase, my inner demon fighting me all the way. I keep repeating these words until I’m shouting, shouting out every last part of my curse, and then it’s gone. All of my dark thoughts disappear, my limbs feeling as if cement was removed from them. And so the first thing I do free of my curse is kiss Lithuania.

It’s been two years since that night, and my life has changed so much for the better. When we got back from Paris I gave my older sister her first ever hug from me. We were able to spend the next two years as a normal family, and it was a beautiful experience. Now I’m touring the world with my fiancé Lithuania, age eighteen to his twenty-six and loving every minute of it. Sure we have our fights and annoy each other to death, but I have never been happier. As I’m sitting on a train bound for the Canadian border, I see the first flakes of snow fall outside my window. I can’t wait for them in four months to turn into Spring.

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