~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~
May 8th – Berlin
Americans at the Elbe, Europeans to the west, and the ever-pressing threat of the Soviets to the east, marching into Germany's capital; May 8th was a dark day in Berlin. Hitler was long cold and dead somewhere, but Berlin didn't give a shit about the puny little man who had run her beautiful city red with the blood of her Jewish citizens and those of the other nations. She was cold, as the coal supply was dwindling without workers to mine it, and she could hardly see because the Allies had cut off her electricity to help their forces into her home. At that very moment, her people –those sweet Berliners- were still fighting for that demon they'd believed would help heal the country, and the nation was locked away with the rotting corpse.
Berlin hadn't seen her Ludwig in weeks, ever since the Allies had set foot on German soil, and she whimpered quietly to herself, hiding in the ruins of a once-fine building. Bombs had reduced it to a half-standing pile of rubble, and now she was all alone.
Already on April 16th, those damn Soviets had started to flood into Berlin's laid-stone streets and tighten their stranglehold on her city one street at a time. She had run for hours the first time, and now she was hiding from another troop that held the nation himself within it.
Ivan was in her city, and he wouldn't stop until he found her. He had an iron grip over his city –he'd had it for almost six days now- and Berlin felt the cold breath on the back of her neck wherever she went. Berlin shivered again, this time for the damp cold in her limbs, and suddenly she felt the blossoming ache of a bombing spread across her hip. The vibration reached her slowly, after the pain, and Berlin yelped as another struck, close to the first; her people were dying.
Clutching a little hand to her heart, Berlin pressed a hand to the delicate Iron Cross hanging from around her neck and thought deeply of her Ludwig and Gilbert. They had always been good to her, even when the First World War had shaken the country to its core and they all knew that they were struggling.
'Ludwig, Gilbert, be safe,' Berlin thought, sniffling, and she carefully peeked outside her makeshift shelter. She couldn't see any soldiers, Soviet or otherwise, and cautiously she poked her dirty head out of the hovel to survey her street. It was darker now that night had fallen, colder too, but she knew that if she stayed too long in one place the Icy Devil would descend upon her and she would never see her Ludwig again. Berlin scrambled up out of the hole, kicking her legs in midair, and she shrieked shortly as she tumbled head over heels down to the sidewalk with a small 'thunk'.
Immediately, Berlin sat up like a ramrod, listening for any running feet, and she took off toward the North; if she had the choice, she'd rather be caught by an American than a Soviet. Hitler could hang himself if he didn't like it. Her little feet pattered and stumbled over chunks of rock and glass, cutting or bruising the tender skin without piercing her focus. She needed to evade as many soldiers as she could before she started to fight, because the tiny pistol her Gilbert had given her would only last for six men. She was prepared to go down fighting and die trying to reach him, but still her hands shook as she stopped in a shadow for breath.
'I need to get to Ludwig,' She told herself seriously, her eyes scanning the wreckage for people. Even a civilian would be detrimental at this point, because they would make a scene and fawn over her, and God knows what else while those damn Soviets followed the noise. Berlin took another deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose, before she darted out across the street and hid behind some rocks as a Soviet tank rumbled in the distance. 'before the Allies catch me. He'll know what to do.' She darted out again, holding her breath, and made it to the next alleyway.
A jumble of Russian erupted behind her, accompanied by the rhythmic tramping of deadly boots and jingling of murderous machines. Berlin didn't have to look back to know that Soviet soldiers trailing the tank had spotted her striking mop of brilliant blonde hair and recognised her. She cursed mentally that she hadn't put enough dirt in it and forced her legs to move quicker over the uneven terrain. The older, more mature humans had a chance of catching up with her, considering she was a child and tired, but she drew a will to survive from the depths of her heart. 'They are waiting.' She thought, pounding over the obstacles as she began to gain a lead on the Soviets, and she glanced back just once. The military men were slowing, her arms pumping with effort, and she saw the gun level with her in horror; Berlin dove left to avoid a bullet.
Chips of rock flew up, pricking her face and exposed skin as she gasped and coughed as fear closed her throat. That could have hit her had she not looked. Berlin kept running now, her mind aflutter with the possibility that their leader had settled for getting a hold of her dead instead of alive. Ivan would do that, the crazy bastard, and Berlin didn't doubt that he had; she dodged another bullet by a hair's breadth.
As Berlin's run took her out of the alley, a hail of gunfire peppered the cement at her feet and she scrambled back from it in alarm, screaming. She was suddenly deaf to her own voice, eyes glued to the sparking bullets as they embedded themselves in the road before her, narrowly missing her toes, and Berlin swooned as she stumbled backwards. Voices bombarded her, none a language she knew and Berlin quaked as her shaking hands pressed themselves close to her equally trembling body. Russian was a prominent language in the crowd, as was English, but Berlin couldn't tell who would be worse to surrender to.
Churchill may have been fooled by Hitler, but he was a better option than the communist reigning from his perch upon Ivan's bloody throne.
"A-Amerika!" Berlin cried, careful not to use the Tongue of Nations around all the human soldiers. "AMERIKA!" Berlin yelped as a soldier jabbed her with the butt of his gun and barked something foreign to her. She blinked, looking at him in a daze as if she were seeing him for the first time, and the darkness and floodlights cast demonic shadows across his pale face. She tried a new tactic: "All...for ed." She grated out with difficulty. "Alfa... re-red... J... Joe...J- Joeness?" English wasn't her best language, she knew, but she also knew that she could form a coherent English sentence and get her point across. "Alfa-redd Joeness?" She blinked rapidly, fluttering her lashes desperately, and hoped that her delicate looks might get her to the democratic nation's protection.
"Comrade America is not here yet, darling," Berlin froze entirely as another nation spoke, sending liquid ice through her veins. Her skin prickled as her body voiced its say of the danger looming near her, and Berlin found herself suddenly drowning in midair. Ivan's face leaned into her shrinking circle of vision and, with a cheery smile, the Russian waved. "but don't worry. We'll have lots of fun." Berlin gasped at the statement, crying out, and she fainted with Ludwig's name rolling off her lips like a prayer.
'Es tut mir leid, Ludwig... I failed.'
Amerika = (German) America
Es tut mir leid = (German) I'm sorry