Title: Love is Our Resistance
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character/Pairing: Belarus-centric. Mentions of Belarus/Russia and slight America/Belarus (if you squint).
Rating: PG
Note: This is... kinda weird. Seriously. Mostly me just rambling away while I tried to get into Belarus' point of view.

It was cold when she was born. It was cold when she held onto her brother and her sister tightly. It always seemed to be snowing, always seemed to be difficult for them. They were so small, so scared and huddled together in the blistering cold. Only Sister's warm arms could offer them some respite, even as General Winter came clanking down on their small and frightened doors.

But, even though it was cold and it was scary, it was also warm and loving.

Brother would tell stories and Sister would sing and rock them back and forth as the wind whipped around them. She was safe, she was warm, and she was loved. And she adored every second she spent with her siblings, especially her kind, nurturing Brother.

Who could want for more?

---

When the Mongols came, she had felt so lost. She had kept strong, promising herself that she'd return to her siblings sometime. Sometime she would be freed from her separation.

Instead, she found herself passed around. Taken in by Lithuania, and also Poland, and others and surrounded by people she did not trust and did not recognize. But she was still safe, she was still given life. But it was not hers to live, outside her cages - or her rooms.

So, when she was suddenly reclaimed by her Brother, she felt so happy. So happy to have that warm little place in the snow return to her. Even though she stood up on her own a few times, even though things still changed so wildly around them. Even though they were not quite so small anymore, not quite the same anymore.

She could ignore that glint in his eyes just like he could ignore that desperate clutch she gave his hands.

---

It had started as bruises. Then turned to cuts. And continued to grow worse.

She could feel each heavy hit on her land, on her people. Each blow that took away a chunk of her life. Germany was destroying everything in his wake, using her as a doormat to force his way into Russia. Into her beloved brother.

So, she sat there, and let the blows land. Let Brother send her people and his people and sister's people and others to fight them off and then die on her land. To let herself break and bend as their world felt like it was tumbling around them. She'd raise her hands and fight, fight until their lives were freed again. Fight until those losses could have meaning again.

Bruises and scars could fade, after all. They all did, in time.

---

"Sister, oh sister," she heard him coo, the concern palatable in his voice. He was worried, as he should be. She'd lost so much already, and it was taking so long to feel any strength return to her.

So, she cherished each gentle pet of her hair and comforting word as she laid in his lap, his arms circling her gently. Dear Brother, dear Brother. He was taking care of her, just as he promised. Just as he swore.

Her limbs were so weak though, her bruises still black, her cuts still fresh, her exhaustion still heavy on her. So, all she could do was lay there as he cooed, as he promised resolve for her wounds. His words and his company had always comforted her most of all, after all. She could not deny him, especially as weak as she was right now. She was so happy to be in his arms again.

Even as his hold became tight, and the pain from her bruises and cuts sank in. He was holding her, so gently she thought, that the pain could mean nothing to her. And nothing to what had happened before.

He'd watch her, watch all of them. Right?

---

When had it started, she wondered.

When had she started to feel that loosening of her grip, her mindset melding with her Brother's?

Perhaps it was when Sister had first begun to cry out, after Brother took them under him. After the Soviets had filled both their houses and things began to change. When promises began to fall short, and that cold glint in her Brother's eyes became deeper.

Perhaps that was why she could not argue when Sister began to fight, to cry for her people's slow loss of their sense of self. Because, in the back of her mind, she could feel her people crying out, too. Losing the parts of her that made her herself. What made her people Belorussian. Brother was slowly beginning to stifle them, to stifle all of them in his house. She could understand her Sister's persistent and growing cries more and more with each passing day.

But it was those old ties to her Brother that stilled her protests against it as well. She only mentioned it once, and tried deftly to ignore the grumbling in her head. Brother needed her, wanted her. She could keep quiet, even as things began to fall around her in the oncoming war. Even as Germany and other enemies invaded her house, killed so many, and destroyed so many pieces of her.

She was strong, after all. She'd lost her house before, lost her people and her identity more times than she could count. So, the war did not scare her, nor did the slow decline of her self. Because Brother was there. Brother was there, holding her hand, and keeping his promise to protect her. He would make sure she was fine, make sure she was his again. And she would face a million wars to keep that promise real.

So, even after she had to leave his house, and stand up on her own shaky legs once again, she tried her best to remain by his side. Marriage, union, or not. She could stand losing herself, after all. And her people seemed to slowly agree. It wasn't much to her, after all. Not when it was for Brother, and for their greater good.

Or at least she thought.

Those old wounds still hurt, after all.

---

"What are those?"

She remained still as America inspected her back. She had sadly grown used to him walking in on her at inopportune moments. He had a knack for being rude - such as not knocking when he entered a room.

How long had it been since he had decided to take her under his wing? She was not sure. The small amount of years seemed lengthy to her.

"They are nothing," she merely gave in reply, pulling her dress closed in the back. Or at least trying to before America stopped her again.

"They look like they were painful," he said, sympathy laced in his voice. Or maybe it was empathy. She could never be too sure with him - with his boisterous attitude and overbearing kindness (if you could call it that, when he poked his nose in other places at the same time). But she knew he was serious about his worry over her. He was to be the "hero" in all situations after all.

"They were." Old scars like that hurt, of course. Old cuts and bruises that still tended to weigh in on her mind.

It was quiet as he let go of her hands, letting her finish dressing, his eyes following where he knew the scars were silently. Maybe he had expected her to be like a porcelain doll, perfect like the fairy tale girls in their stories. Or maybe he was just looking for something else to pick at - like he was with her current boss. (So annoying.)

Instead, he chuckled awkwardly and beat his chest (maybe to show his manliness, she had no idea). "I have scars too, you know! Lots of 'em!" he said, sounding proud. His version of it's okay, I'm just like you! like he always did. "I've got this big one from when Japan pounced me in Pearl Harbor, you wanna see-?"

Revolting. "No."

That awkward laugh again. And a saddened smile. "Ah- okay. Another time then."

It was quiet again, much like Belarus knew her home was like right now. Like Brother's home - emptied after he lost himself. She rubbed absentmindedly at her arm, an old bruise from when he had not been so careful...

"Hey, are you okay?" America said, his hands back on hers.

She stopped. He really did not need to be concerned. "...I am much older than you, America. I have suffered much differently than you have. You have no need to give me your pity or concern."

He frowned, obviously not pleased with her usual coldness. "So? I'm here to take care of you - to help you get on your feet - to be your hero!"

"I do not need a hero." Point blank. Honest. And true. At least to her.

He faltered, hurt welling back up in those eyes. She'd been frustrating him lately, she knew it. "He's not going to be like he was, you know. Like he was when you were little."

She knew that. She knew that all too well. Sister knew it, too. But then again, none of them were the same. None of them had not suffered some change - it was only America that could frown and smile upon his own change like he did so readily. But still, was it such a sin to wish for what they had had? She did not believe so.

"I would still die for him."

At that America stopped and gave a sigh. A very knowing sigh.

"I know."

---

Those bruises have not yet returned, and she could feel her strength slowly returning. It'd be long and difficult to be anything different, after being in so many places after the years. But she knew the one thing she wanted, the one thing she had sought for after all these years.

To be with Brother, and to be by his side, no matter what.

So, maybe chasing him wasn't so difficult after all. She had regained her strength, after all. Maybe then Brother would want to marry.

(And maybe Sister could live with them again, too. Maybe. As long as Brother didn't ignore her again.)

That was a good a plan as any.