Chapter Text
July 1905
“I’m proud of you“
“Отец?“ Soviet said “Will I really get to lead all of this? It’s too big.“ looking down at the map he holds up his hands spreading them wide. “It’s like this big!” Russian Empire laughs gently looking at his five year old son “One day, yes, but don’t worry малыш. I will show you everything you need to know, and we’ll do this together I promise.“
September 1916
The war had dragged on for far too long. Once the Germans began deploying gas against them, everything spiraled into chaos. The aftermath of those attacks is one of the most horrifying sights imaginable. RE, who had led this country for many years and witnessed countless horrors during his tenure, found himself unprepared for the devastating reality of watching a man’s face rot away as he struggled to breathe—or even scream.
It feels profoundly unfair to be one of the few unaffected. The gas burns and sears, leaving his lungs feeling as if they are melting inside him. Yet, he cannot end his suffering; the scars are fleeting.He should be grateful for this, but it feels unjust when he sees that, after a few weeks, he appears almost normal while the men he fought alongside remain unresponsive.
Having endured gas attacks over 17 times, he clings to a delusion: “It can’t be as bad as last time; I must be getting stronger.” Yet, each time, he is proven wrong. If you asked him, he would say the worst part isn’t the gas itself; it’s when it doesn’t even let you die. You could be rotting on the ground, with the gas eating away at your skin, and still be alive.
His troops were truly remarkable, rising to their feet, tying cloth around their faces, and rushing into battle, not caring if their eyes were falling out. They were what motivated him to force himself up and keep going.
However, the people of Russia were not happy. There was no food, and winter was approaching. Everything had been poured into this war - everything he had, everything the people had, everything the government had. The one thing he wouldn't let this war take was his son, his precious gem, only 16 and begging to join the fight. He couldn't bear the thought of his son waking up, not knowing where he was or if he was safe, after witnessing the horrors of this war.
Even being home is still just a different side of war, meetings, money, arguments, lack of money, it never ends.
Russian Empire made his way into the large meeting room, ready to plan a way to hold out against the German Empire, he was greeted by Britain. "Ah, Russian Empire, we were waiting for you," Britain said, the blood and dirt on his uniform evidence of a recent battle.
"How are you?” Then cutting himself off he looks around “Where is France? He needs to be here," RE asked, looking for the French representative.
"He can't, he gave me details on what we are doing, but he needs to stay and defend Somme," Britain explained, an apologetic look on his face.
RE sighed deeply, not bothering to maintain a calm facade. "My people are unhappy with me, and I don't see this ending well. I can keep them at bay for now, but I can't fight this war and suppress a possible revolution." He rested his head in his hands, trying to compose himself.
"Revolution?" Britain murmured, looking worried. "You did not tell us how dire the situation had become, RE." He glanced at the stacks of half-written plans. "I want this war to end just as much as you do, but I don't see that happening anytime soon. I would send supplies, but I don't even have enough for my own people, let alone anyone else's."
"I understand," RE replied, the mask of calm returning. "Let's get back to the topic at hand."
Hours later as the meeting drew to a close, RE headed back to his office, exhausted. He heard a small voice call out, "Отец?"
Turning, he saw his son, Soviet. "Hello, Soviet. Is there something you need?"
"I didn't know you were home. Will you be here for a while?" The hopeful look on Soviet's face always pained RE.
"I'm sorry, малыш. It's only until the end of the week. Then I need to head back to the front," RE said, placing his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Отец, please! I can help! I've been trained, and I'm almost as strong as you now!" Soviet practically cried.
"No," RE said firmly, making it clear the discussion was over.
"I'm not weak, I can fight!"
"No," RE repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You will stay here, where it's safe. I have already lost one person I love to war, and I will not lose you to this one."
Soviet didn't reply, his hands shaking as he stared at his father. RE pulled him into a hug, muttering about war and death under his breath, and Soviet melted into the embrace.
"Promise me," RE said, not letting go.
"What?"
"Promise me you'll stay here."
"I promise, Отец," Soviet replied.
"Good." RE released him from the hug. "Now, I need to work before I leave in three days. If you need me, I'll be in my office." With that, RE walked away, leaving Soviet alone.
Over the next couple of days, Soviet saw his father maybe twice before it was time for him to leave yet again, the war cares not for the families that are now broken. He watched helplessly as RE rode out, knowing he was powerless to join him in the fight.