Metanoia - A Greece X Turkey Fanfic

Part 8

Greece had to blink.

Isn't that what you do?

Before the true weight of the words could sink in, his mouth opened. He searched desperately for a response, for anything his mind could produce, before it became evident that nothing would come out.

"I..." he began, hoping the rest of the words would follow. They never manifested, however, and he was left blankly staring at the man next to him. 

It's what he does.

Heracles turned away sharply as he felt his face burn. Why was he taking so much offense to the remark? It was true, and he wouldn't deny it. He held things in. Like any country did. If any representation was to bemoan their entire lifetime's worth of suffering and torment, the tale would be endless. 

Besides, it was easier to avoid confronting those deep-seated issues. Grudges could be held until the end of time. If America still resented England over the Boston Massacre, then it would have been impossible to establish any sort of friendly connection. Some problems were better left unsolved. Some years of tyranny and oppression were better left ignored.

Sometimes, it was easier to pretend to have forgotten even while the sting of the wound was still present.

However, being asked so bluntly...and by the man who was the source of that misery, no less... Heracles felt the all-familiar vexation claw at his chest. Had it been any other country, such a question wouldn't mean this much. He would've probably laughed and brushed it off. But being interrogated by Turkey? The person who was the cause of those centuries of torment and persecution?

Was he mocking him?

That had to be it. Turkey wasn't any fool to play innocent. He was, after all, the one who'd taught Greece to hold it in. To disregard personal feelings. To understand that no one really cared about him. To allow the uncertainty and fear to suffocate him until it soon became routine, as if the dread and loathing were just arbitrary emotions that life entailed.

He made Greece believe that suffering and persecution were normal. That bloodshed and injustice were simply aspects of human life, no matter how painful and gruesome they were. He made Greece believe that sentimentality and attachment were dangerous, that expressing opinions or feelings was wrong and to be frowned upon.

Turkey would hit him if he cried. He'd have him slave away for longer hours when he expressed resentment or disapproval to his master. He'd taken away the word 'no' and replaced it with something far worse - an inability to distinguish right and wrong. His morality was shaped upon whether he'd get beaten or not for his actions. His thoughts increasingly stilled, until philosophizing in his private moments had become too difficult and risky. Turkey had invaded his life, permeated his mind, until even his thoughts were dominated and controlled. 

Turkey had controlled his entire life. He'd taken it.

No - Greece had given it.

Reluctantly, at first. But what was a young boy to do against dozens of powerful and bulky soldiers, who slapped and kicked him until he was too sore to breathe? How was he supposed to uphold  defiant fire when no one heeded his pleas for help, when he was forced to cry late into the night in a cold and cramped chamber? Where could he run away to? Who would listen to him? Greece had given Turkey control out of some survival instinct. The boy had realized that rebellion was the surest path the death. It was shameful to acknowledge his defeat, it had to be done. Otherwise, where would he be now? Some sacrifices had to be made in order to ensure security. His life was more valuable than his freedom.