Rejected Kindness

A Hetalia Fanfiction

By RishiAndSquee

August, 1978

London is always dreary and gloomy.

Germany winces slightly at the pound of the rain on the windows. The small, constant pitter-pattering of the raindrops on his hotel window was going to get annoying fairly quickly, he was sure of that.

He looks out the window and at the hurrying, bustling people of London scurrying over the drenched pavement on their daily business. His eyes, however, stop when they rest on a tiny blond head, and his eyes widen as he looks at the child. The boy is sitting in front of the hotel on a bench directly across from the building, unmoving even as the rain pours over him. He cannot see the child's face, but the blond is looking up at the hotel with such intensity that Germany cannot help wondering if he's waiting for someone. After a few moments, the German pulls away and turns to the door. He has a meeting to get to.

Surely the child sitting there will be gone by the time he returns. The utter loneliness of the boy is starting to make him ill.

( - )

The boy is still there when he returns.

Germany pauses halfway down the pavement from the hotel, mouth slightly agape. There is no one else on the street. He studies the boy - blond with blue eyes, wearing a sailor suit and clutching a matching hat to his chest - and can't help but feel slightly empathetic. He looks up at the rain through his clear umbrella. The dark clouds that had been surrounding London since he had got there this morning stretched through the sky in all directions, and from the looks of it, it wouldn't stop raining anytime soon.

Germany looks back down to the child and cautiously takes a step forward.

He takes step after step, keeping his pace steady and calm. Children are normally frightened by him - he had learned that the hard way while visiting Feliciano's house once - but as he got closer, step by step, the boy turned his head slightly to look at him. The look in his blue eyes was not fear, or even timidness.

Germany felt a shiver down his spine at the cold, hard glare that was searing in the child's eyes. Still, he approached, and soon he was standing over the boy. He reached down and covered the child's head with the umbrella, ignoring the rain that was now hitting his own back.

"How long have you been out here?" he asks firmly, head bent down so he could get a good look at the boy's soaking face. The child shakes his head and breaks their gaze, then speaks abruptly in reply.

"Since yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Germany replies in mild astonishment, his brow rising. "Why have you been sitting out here since yesterday? Isn't your mother worried about where you are?"

"Don't have a mother."

His eyes soften at the abrupt reply. "No mother? What about a father?"

"Don't have one of those, either."

The reply was once again abrupt, as if the child did not want to talk to this strange man. Still, the Germanic nation pressed,

"What about sisters or brothers?"

There is no answer for this question. The child bites down on his lip and scuffles his wet sneakers into the sidewalk. He looks back up, "No, I don't have anyone like that."

Germany is not fooled for an instant. He brings his strong hand down and wipes child's bangs out of his eyes. The sea-blue eyes of the child are moist, and near tears - he would know, after seeing how Feliciano always looked when he was refused food, or a nap, or cuddling - but these tears are being held back by sheer will, and filled with loneliness. Germany knows that if he tries to press the boy for answers, he might run away, and that is the last thing the German wants.

He tries a different tactic, "What's your name?"

"Who wants to know?"

The older blond can't help chuckling slightly, "I do."

The boy looks back up, a single tear slipping down each eye as he blinked at the large German. "...I'm Peter."

"...Peter, huh. That's a fine name." Germany replies, a soft smile on his face. He kneels down so he is eye level with the child, "My name is Ludwig."

Peter's face twitches up slightly into a small smile. "What kind of a name is that? It sounds weird."

"It's German."

"...you're from Germany?"

Germany coughs slightly, adjusting his collar, "Yes, I'm from Germany. I'm here for a meeting for the next few days."

Peter casts his head back down, fingers fidgeting together. "Oh," he says softly, and falls back into silence. The German looks around for a moment before looking back at the boy,

"Would you like to come get dried off?"

Peter shakes his head, the lingering drops of water falling from his face. "No."

"Do you have anywhere to go?" Germany presses, brows furrowing, "You said you don't have a mother or a father, and you'll catch a cold if you don't dry off. How far away do you live?"

The child swallows hesitantly, then points, "I live that way."

Germany follows the child's finger to the horizon of the sea. His eyes narrow slightly as he searches for a house, even a car or a bundle of boxes - he knows that poverty is rampant everywhere, and can't rule out that the boy is homeless - but finds nothing but the sea. He turns back to Peter and adjusts the umbrella again, making sure he is covered from the rain.

"Do you live on a boat?" he asks.

"No. I live out there. I have to take a boat to get there, though."

This surprises the older man. They both remain silent before Germany coughs again slightly, "Why in the world are you here, then?"

"Aren't you getting wet, Mister Ludwig?"

Germany narrows his eyes slightly, but his voice remained soft and calm, "Why are you avoiding my questions?" he asks curiously, wiping the child's bangs away again.

"I don't like being at home. I like London. My prince leaves me all by myself most of the time, and..." Peter pauses, then turns his head back down before he continues, his voice breaking, "And this is where I grew up a really long time ago."

The Germanic nation continues to brush Peter's tangled hair with his rough fingers, and can't help noticing how dirty the hair is - dirty and rough, smelling slightly of saltwater. He pushes the umbrella into Peter's hands and gently takes his chin, turning the child's face up to his own. "Do you have anyone I can call to pick you up? Anyone in London?"

This brings more silence. Germany refuses to break his gaze on the boy, and finally, Peter cracks. He speaks softly, and Germany leans in to listen to the child's words.

"...do you know Arthur Kirkland?"

Germany's eyes widen, and he lets go of the boy's chin, straightening up. Taken aback, he looks around at the empty street. "I...I do, actually. You know him?"

Peter sniffs, then bites down on his lip firmly, tightening his grip on the blue hat and the umbrella handle. "...my name is Peter Kirkland." he mumbles quietly. " A-and...Arthur's my brother."

The older blond stops for a full minute in shocked silence - how in the world could this child be England's? He hadn't heard of any new nations being built, and surely if this little boy was England's, the Brit would be ecstatic over a little brother. Germany's hand fell to his side, and for a long time the only sound was that of the rain.

Peter looks up at the sky, then back at Germany, "Hey, Mister Germany - " he said quietly, dropping the use of "Ludwig" altogether - because after all, the fact that he was supposedly England's brother meant that he knew these things, didn't he? -" - Mister Germany, you're gonna get wet. Here, take the umbrella," he insists with a small, cheerful smile. Germany looks up at the child and notices that under the damp blond fringe that clung to his forehead, there were thick, black eyebrows.

There is now no doubt in his mind that this boy was telling the truth.

Germany coughs into his fist, then takes the umbrella from Peter's hand and straightens up, still hovering over the child so he did not get any more wet then he already was.

"Well," he mumbles - and he knows he's not very good with kids, but more likely then not this child really is much older then he looks, so he feels a bit more at ease - "If you really are Arthur's brother, then I must extend my hospitality to you. Come inside, I'll get you cleaned up and send you off on your way. I insist."

Peter looks up and Germany can tell that his eyes are widening, his face suddenly clear of the uneasiness and distrust he had for the older man previously and being replaced with nothing but sheer mouth opens halfway, but no words come out. Taking advantage of this, Germany rests his hand on Peter's trembling shoulder and manages a soft, small smile.

"...That's okay?"

"It's alright," the German assures, "I don't mind."

Germany feels a small hand make way into his own. Peter squeezes Germany's hand tightly, as if that was the first gesture of kindness he had ever had, and his eyes light up with the kind of light that one would normally expect from a child. Germany, in turn, smiles back and leads him inside.

The skies begin to clear up.

\\-/

By the time that Germany and Peter make it to the older man's hotel room, the rain had stopped. As soon as the key to the hotel room clicks, Peter is inside, barely allowing Germany the time to open the door. The older man can't help but smile. In an instant, Peter had transformed from a hesitant, distrusting child to a smiling, and - dare he say it - a very chatty one.

Peter runs to the window and presses against it in awe. "How high up are we?" he asks in amazement.

The Germanic nation adjusts his collar as he slips off his business jacket and places it carefully on the back of a nearby chair, "We're on the fifth floor, so I'd say we're up pretty high." he replies, unbuttoning his vest and also discarding that. The clothes he is wearing are soaked, and he needed to change out of the damp articles before he catches a cold. He glances up to the absorbed child, "Do you want me to hang those up?"

Peter looks back at Germany and pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. "No way, I don't want you to see me naked. I can stay like this." At that, the boy turns back to the window, avidly watching the world below. "I don't mind, Mister Germany."

The older man simply raises an eyebrow before turning to the bathroom, searching for any spare towels. He finds a few below the wooden cabinet and pulls one over his shoulders, then leaning out and tossing the other at Peter's head, "You should at least dry your hair. Arthur would have a hissy fit if you caught a cold."

Peter stiffens, and the towel drops to the floor. Germany walks over and scoops the towel from below and covers the child's head with it. He begins to rub, a bit roughly, but Peter does not say anything in protest so he continues his work. After a long moment, Germany allows the towel to fall to the boy's shoulders. He puts one hand to his temple and sighs, "Arthur is your brother, isn't he?"

Germany looks back at Peter to find the smiling boy gone and replaced with a scowling one.

"Of course I'm his brother! Why would I lie about that?"

He blinks, surprised at Peter's anger. The boy continues without making eye contact with the older nation, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "I wouldn't have anything to gain by pretending to be that jerk's brother! I hate him, and he hates me!"

"...I wouldn't be talking about your brother that way."

Peter turns and scowls, obviously upset. Germany approaches the child again but is stopped by another glare as he continues to rant angrily,

"He doesn't give a bloody damn about me! He left me out in the sea all alone when I was a kid! So I don't care about him at all!"

Germany steps closer and kneels down to look at Peter at eye level, even though the boy refuses to make eye contact. He reaches out and puts a hand on Peter's shoulder, but the boy merely shrugs him away.

"...how long ago was that?" Germany asks softly.

"It was a real long time ago, from before I can remember! That jerk used to take care of me, but then once the war ended, I was useless and he threw me out!" Peter shouts, throwing his hands up into the air angrily. He then wipes at his cheeks with the cuffs of his sleeves and sniffs, "He never really cared, he just used me until he was done!"

The boy bows down his head and continues to cry, trying in vain to bait off the tears that Germany knew had to be coming. Germany tries to once again put his hand on Peter's shoulder, but to no avail.

"That...Peter, I'm sure that you're misunderstanding things," he says quietly, "I'm sure your brother is just too busy to come and see you."

"Liar! Everyone says so! Francis, and Matt, and Al all say the same thing! They said I was abandoned!"

Germany's throat tightens painfully at the boy's unabashed words. He looks down at Peter, but this time more pitiful then anything else. "...they said that?"

"Tch! Yeah they did," Peter mumbles angrily, crossing his arms and pressing his back against the wall. "But now nobody cares anymore so I'm stuck here by myself."

The Germanic nation adjusts himself so that he is sitting cross-legged on the floor, then gently takes Peter's arm and pulls him down so the child is sitting next to him. He's never been very good with affection - especially with children - so he simply holds Peter's arm clumsily, unable to do anything else. He mumbles an "I see" and looks away. After a moment, however, something dawns on the German and he looks back up at the boy.

"If you hate your brother so much, why are you in London?"

Peter tenses up again. He curls his knees into his chest, chewing on his bottom lip for an answer. Finding none, he shakes his head. Still, Germany persists,

"Why? Why would you come to London, and stand outside in the rain for days? Are you waiting for - "

Germany stops when Peter jerks his arm away. The child brings his arm to his chest and remains silent. It occurs to the German that perhaps this is a touchy subject, but he continues quietly.

"...are you waiting for him?"

"No!"

This was as much as he expected from the child - a vehement denial. Still, Germany knows that the truth lies much deeper then that. He allows the boy to stand back up and turn away, but Peter does not make a move to leave like Germany expects. Instead, he turns his head back to Germany, a cool look on his face.

"...my name's Sealand, by the way."

The older man blinks, "Excuse me?"

"Sealand. That's my country name. Peter is just my human name. It'd be silly for a country to be called 'Peter', right?"

Germany nods shortly in agreement, "Yes, it is very silly. So you're Sealand, huh.."

"Yep!" Peter giggles, tilting his head. "Nobody else talks to me, though, so I don't get called 'Sealand' very often except for by my prince and his family."

"...no one else talks to you?"

Peter shakes his head, "No, nobody else ever talks to me."

The German is stunned into silence. Slowly, he looks up at the child again, then reaches out to the boy and pulls him back down. Silently, he rubs away the tears brimming out of the child's eyes with a gloved finger. In turn, Peter curls into Germany's chest, and after an awkward pause, Germany gives in and instinctively hugs the blond boy to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around the trembling, sobbing child.

He allows Peter to cry. Normally, he is irritated by such a display, but Peter's tears are desperate, no doubt held in for years of isolation. Germany can't do anything but hold him. He is clumsy with words, and this instance has left him so tongue tied that he can hardly form thoughts.

After what seemed like hours, finally the boy's sobs silenced. Germany loosens his hold on Peter to find him deep in slumber. He is not surprised in the least, and he stands, cradling the child. Silently, he carries Peter to the couch and pulls a spare blanket over him, then turns to find the phone.

\\-/

"Ah, so Peter found his way to you, then?"

Germany is astounded at the nonchalant voice that replies to his story. He looks down at the corded phone, as if to wonder if he really called the right person, then coughs as he tries again,

"Yes, he did. Since you are his brother, Arthur, I assumed that you would be more worried about him..." he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks back at the sleeping Peter with concern, then continues, "He's a child. Why do you let him run around like this?"

England's voice is hard and cold through the phone line as he answers back,"He's not my concern, Ludwig. He never was. I couldn't care less about him. Do what you want, it doesn't matter to me."

"...how can you say that?" Germany asks softly, "How can you say that about your brother? How has he done you wrong?"

"Simple. I don't care about him. Honestly, Ludwig, you shouldn't either."

With that, there is a click, and then Germany's ears are filled with the sound of a dial tone. However, the blood rushing to his head in anger soon drowns the sound out, and the Germanic nation grits his teeth together as he clutches the phone, then slams it down. He looks over to Peter again and the anger grows.

How?

This is a child that England has denied, a child that had done nothing wrong as far as Germany could tell. If he had done something as America had done, Germany could understand the resentment. But...a child...

And England was apathetic.

Germany digs his nails into his fist.

A child, alone...it did not sit well in the older man's stomach.

\\-/

Germany is there when Peter awakes. As the child sits up and rubs his eyes, Germany can't help but smile.

"Guten morgen." he says quietly. Peter starts at the voice, then looks over to the older man and smiles with a tinge of sadness in the corner of his eyes,

"H-hello."

Germany stands, then dusts off his vest. He smiles warmly, "Did you sleep well?"

The boy quickly bobs his head up and down a few times, "Uh-huh."

"Good. You're coming with me, then. We're going back to Germany."

Peter's eyes widen suddenly, surprised at the older man's words. He rubs his eyes again as if to make sure he isn't dreaming, "Huh?"

"You're coming with me. To Germany. It's not healthy for a nation as young as you to live on your own; I talked with Arthur and he obviously does not care for you at all. You are to come with me, live at my house. It's a nice place, and you'll get used to it quickly."

"Y...you called Arthur?"

There is a hint of anger in Peter's voice. Germany is somewhat taken aback, but shrugs it off and nods.

"Yes. And I decided that you should come to my house, live with me."

"Why?"

This question surprises the German once again. He looks down at the child and his eyes soften, "Because you need someone to take care of you."

Peter throws the blanket off of himself and shoots a glare, "No I don't! Get away from me! I'm fine how I am!"

"Peter-"

"Sealand! My name is Sealand!"

"Sealand, please...you can't possibly live on your own..."

The boy walks angrily past Germany and towards the door. He rests his hands on the knob and looks back at the nation for a split second, "I'm not living on my own! I don't need you and I don't want your sympathy!"

With that, the child slams the door shut behind him. Germany is left standing there, astounded.

Why had the boy run away? Germany had simply attempted being kind to him, trying to comfort the lonely-stricken child.

Sighing with these thoughts in mind, the German turns away from the door and instead watches the window. His eyes cast down at the little blond with the sailor suit and matching blue hat as he runs down the cobblestone streets.

It's started to rain again.