Ramblings of a Dumbass

Little Japan

AN: this was written for an AU called "Ah We're dads" where we are dads to countries, the Earwyn person is me and Japan's father is the Japanese empire. yes, this is CH, leave me alone. 

Little Japan had learned English quickly and spoke it with minimal errors, most likely due to the amount of time he spent with his "uncle". He was blissfully unaware that Earwyn was really his father. His small hand gripped Earwyn's as they roamed the streets of Chicago, the air filthy much like the people and the sky grey and cloudy like the personalities of all the residents in the city. The city would be pleasant, what with the large buildings, good food, and cold river that passed through like veins, if people didn't reside in every corner like mice in a barn. Earwyn, despite living in the bustling city, never liked it much. He had lived there for so long he got to see the city change names from "the black city" to "the white city" to "the windy city".

It was the people however that made Earwyn growl with distaste whenever Japan politely asked to roam the city. It didn't help that no one had money either which put them into a more hostile mood. And the lingering stares that held different emotions and intentions that were directed at the duo didn't make him feel any more inclined to be nice. The people were loud, rude, and too bold for their own good which often led to them being shot dead in the street over some small trivial matter. It was a dangerous and morales place which is possibly why Earwyn chose to live there in the first place. The bustling cars, loud train, and constant yelling a better lullaby and alarm clock than any songbird you could find.

The industrial songbirds of Chicago, however, weren't meant for young ears, Earwyn learning that with Weimar and Reich when they came running into his room when shots followed by a scream were heard outside their window one night. They refused to sleep on their own after that, resorting to hiding in Weimar's room and hiding in their closet at night. They were too young to see the beauty and harsh reality in the industrial song bird's songs. But Japan, seeming to resemble his estranged father more an more by the day listened to the songs with genuine curiosity, asking about them during their small, barely fulfilling dinner. Japan had learned to allow the sounds of the city to become white noise, as one does when living in Chicago. What's the use of a radio when you have an open window?

Japan preferred his uncle to his father, Earwyn never hit him or told him he wasn't meant to be. Earywn never yelled and said Japan resembled his unknown father too much, and Earwyn willingly took him out to see the city even if he was reluctant to. And when they roamed like sick strays on the streets of the city Japan gripped his uncle's hand tightly, his uncle wouldn't be happy if he got lost. And when Japan would excitedly ask if they could enter a store to just look his uncle would sigh and say "aye, sí niño" and Japan would happily say "gracias tío" back. Spanish was another language little Japan had picked up bits and pieces of, having heard Earwyn yell and swear in the language enough times to learn some.

Japan didn't like it when his father would cry, it made him scared and anxious. Sometimes he would crawl into his lap and softly ask what was wrong but was usually turned away, told to just leave. When Japan had told his uncle this he was told that his father was a busy and stressed man, that sometimes he needs a moment to break. With slightly glazed eyes Japan finally asked if he could just live with him instead of just visiting in the summer, smiling big and bright when his uncle said he would try to make those arrangements happen. It was with a heavy heart when Japan woke up to screaming in the kitchen and the argument was about him. His father was crying, face in a snarl like a lion as he shoved an accusing finger in Earwyn's face and said "You won't take my son, he's all I have".

Japan stood quietly in the doorway, listening to them yell. His father sounded distressed and scared and he wanted to hug his waist and say "it's okay papa". Instead, he heard insults being thrown, and fearful truths his father never dared say when he was around.

"He's the only good thing from this situation"

"He deserves a dad who loves him!" Earwyn said, voice strained. "Oh, and you do?" His father hissed back. He could hear the smirk in his father's watery voice, "you're a deadbeat, you wouldn't know how to raise him anyways" And Japan could hear Earwyn's heart drop, and a thought he never had crossed his mind. Was his uncle a father? And if so where was his child? And the metal, man-made songbirds sang too loud and defended him. Did he really know anything about his uncle? But he had no time to dwell on such matters, not when a glass breaking a few feet behind him told him to come back to the present. His father grabbed him and forced him out the door, all before he could ask what was going on or say goodbye.

Japan was 10 years old when he last saw his uncle, 10 and a half when he learned his uncle was his father. He still got letters, but they dwindled to nothing when he was 12. His father was busier then ever, a war raging on outside his home. He missed the summers he spent with his uncle, wandering a dirty city with no money in their pockets but at least they had each other. Walking into small stores or feeding the birds in the park. He missed his uncle dearly, or wait. His father. He played with that new information a lot, wondering what it would have been like to have his father be apart of his life more. He still couldn't understand why his father kept him away from the arcane knowledge of what Earwyn was to him. Or why he hated him so, or even why having similarities made his father turn him away to be taken care of by the maids, disgust always evident on his face. Japan pondered a lot, wishing for maybe a new beginning or a satisfying end.

Japan had just turned 14 when he was urged into a uniform, given a gun, and sent to fight in a war he had no part in by his father. He was scared, a young boy amongst those both his age or older. It was quick for him to learn this was no place for him, the other soldiers looking at him like a wolf would at a lamb. They looked like the men his American father warned him of, the ones that if they got too close he snarled at like a bear. He made sure to stick with the others his age, all protecting each other from the others. They were at war with their own on top of the fact they were at war with the allies.

The young country was, to be quite frank, scared shitless.

Real birds with knives for feathers now woke him up every morning, the songbirds of the west a fond memory he barely remembered. It was routine now to wake up in a small tent with little food and to grip a small knife as he wandered the camp for scraps.

It wasn't routine to hear a loud high pitched whizzing noise, like a big mosquito.

It surely wasn't routine to look up and see a small speck come closer.

It definitely wasn't routine to be bombed.

AN: howdy I'm actually a little proud of this one :'))